Harry Potter and the Dropped Pin
by Sparrow Nightrunner
Summary: AU What difference does one moment make? One glance, motion, or hesitation? Turns out, quite a significant one. Different friends, a different House… and perhaps a different destiny. This story shows how everything can change at the drop of, well, a pin
1. A New Friend

(Author's notes: I was bitten by a rather nasty plot bunny, so I just had to write this.

This entire AU story is based on the observation that Harry is phenomenally loyal; when he makes a friend, it's for life. Which begs the question: what if Draco had gotten to him before Ron? Yes, I know it's been done to death, but such was the strength of the plot bunny; I had to get this out of my system anyway.

The first couple chapters will echo the books quite a bit (to the point where many lines are copied verbatim), because I'm trying to stay as close to canon as possible. Then, as the cascade of events unravels, the storyline will draw away from the books.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

**Book 1: Harry Potter and the Games of Snakes**

**1: A New Friend**

Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous.

Hagrid had just slipped off for a "pick-me-up" at the leaky cauldron, leaving the eleven-year-old alone in this strange new world. His hair was still mussed (worse than usual, anyway) from his ride through Gringotts, and he held a newly acquired bag of coins awkwardly in one hand.

Madam Malkin, a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve, greeted him as he entered.

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here – another young man being fitted up just now, in fact."

In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," said the boy, "Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have-"

Madam Malkin made a noise of surprise, cutting the boy's voice off, just as Harry felt something small and cold bounce off the inside of his left foot. He reached down and picked up the pin that Madam Malkin had dropped, twisting his body slightly to hand it back to her.

She gave him a smile. "Thank you, dear," she said before returning to her work.

Harry turned back toward the pale boy, realizing that he had fallen silent. Harry became self-conscious as he noticed the boy openly staring at the scar that his brief movement had revealed.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" the boy asked bluntly.

"Yes," Harry mumbled, ducking his head and smoothing his bangs back over the scar.

"I'd heard you might be coming to Hogwarts this year. Now I'm glad Father didn't send me to Durmstrang." The boy had returned to his lazy chatter. "Though they don't have so many annoying rules there as they do at Hogwarts. As I was saying, first years should be able to have their own brooms. I think I'll smuggle one in somehow. Father says I'd be a shoo-in for a House team. Do you play?"

"Play?" Harry asked quietly.

"Quidditch." When Harry shook his head, having no idea what Quidditch was, the boy continued on. "I play. I'm very good. I can teach you all the best moves."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course." The boy gave him a funny look, as if that were a very stupid question. "Who better to teach you such things?"

Harry felt that the boy thought a bit too highly of himself, but he didn't say it out loud. This was his first conversation with a wizard his own age; he didn't want to mess it up.

The boy seemed to come to a realization and peered at Harry for a moment. "Wait, you were raised by Muggles, right?"

"Yes."

He made a face. "That must have been horrid. Did you even ever know you were a wizard?"

"No."

"I can't imagine. Must have been horrible."

"It was," Harry ventured. He gave the boy a shy smile, glad he had someone to complain to about the Dursleys.

"I'm Malfoy, by the way. Draco Malfoy. You should stick with me, Potter. I'll teach you everything that you need to know about the wizarding world. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort."

"The 'wrong sort'?"

"Mudbloods and—OW." Draco turned to give a nasty look to the witch pinning his robes. "Did you just poke me?"

The witch glanced up at him. "My apologies. It slipped."

Draco made a face as he turned back to Harry, and Harry had to hide a grin at how funny the other boy looked when affronted. "Just stick with me, Potter, and you'll be fine."

Harry smiled. "Okay."

Draco's eyes drifted toward the front of the shop. "I say, look at that man!"

Harry looked out the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two ice creams to show that he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," Harry said. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh. I've heard of him. I think he's some sort of servant. He's one of those sorts you've got to watch out for."

Harry looked back at Draco in confusion. "He's the gamekeeper. And I think he's nice."

Draco's eyes widened. "You like that big brute?"

"He's my friend," Harry said stiffly.

Draco looked about to retort. Then, his eyes flicked up toward Harry's scar and he shut his mouth. He had looked away before he opened it again. "Sorry. Didn't know he was a friend of yours."

An awkward silence fell between them. Then, Harry said, "He's the one that took me away from the Muggles."

Draco considered that. Then, with the utmost confidence, he said, "Better him than Muggles, I suppose."

Harry didn't really think the other boy had gotten the point. But before Harry could respond, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear."

Harry took her cue to hop off the footstool and turned shyly toward Draco. "See you at Hogwarts, Draco?"

The other boy nodded imperiously. "Of course. I look forward to it." He didn't even hesitate.

Happy with the knowledge that he'd made another new friend, Harry left the shop and joined Hagrid. While he started on the ice cream Hagrid had bought for him, Harry asked the big man about Quidditch. Hagrid was all too happy to describe the game in full. However, when Harry asked what a "Mudblood" was, Hagrid just said it was "not a nice thing ter say," and refused to say anything else about it.

SSSSSSSSSSS

Harry was trying very hard not to panic.

According to the large clock over the arrivals board, he had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts, and he had no idea how to do it. He was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

He didn't like admitting when Uncle Vernon had a point about something, but that seemed to be the case now. His ticket clearly said "Platform 9 ¾," but no one had any idea where that was.

He figured that Hagrid had forgotten to tell him something, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He couldn't help but wonder if Draco Malfoy would have remembered to tell him, but shook the thought away. He refused to compare the only two friends he had ever made.

At that moment, a group of people passed just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"—packed with Muggles, of course—"

Harry swung around. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys and a girl, all with flaming red hair. Each of the boys was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him – and they had an _owl_.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped and so did he. Hovering just near enough to see them through the crowd, Harry watched as three of the four boys disappeared through the dividing barrier between Platforms 9 and 10.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." She pointed to the last and youngest of her sons.

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is… the thing is, I don't know how to…"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded. "Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it; that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er – okay."

He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid. He walked towards it, speeding up as he went, finally breaking into a run and closing his eyes. When he didn't hit the wall when expected, he opened them and beheld the scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express.

With one last glance at the archway behind him, Harry pushed his cart along the busy platform in search of an empty seat on the packed train. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh, _Neville_," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first, then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the train door. He tried to lift it up the steps, but could hardly raise one end. Twice, he dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired boys—one of the twins—he'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment. He thanked them while pushing sweaty hair out of his eyes, making them spot his scar. They gawked at him until, to his relief, their mother called them away.

Harry watched from his compartment as the red-headed family said their good-byes.

Then, his attention was pulled away from them by a familiar drawl from the doorway. "_There_ you are. I've been looking for you."

Harry looked and saw Draco standing in the door, two enormous boys behind him. As Harry watched, Draco turned and addressed them. "See, I told you I knew Harry Potter."

Draco chattered in his way as he let himself into the compartment and sat in the seat beside Harry. "I think I like this compartment better. It's less crowded." Harry fought the urge to shrink back as the two large boys followed Draco in and sat down across from him. They reminded Harry of Dudley. "It's also farther from the prefects, which is good. I can't stand anyone getting uppity around me. Think we should move our trunks?" He didn't give anyone any chance to answer, but breezed right on. "That Parkinson girl can probably watch them for a while, but we'll need them to change into our school robes. I've already had Dobby sew the Slytherin crest on two of mine, because I just know I'll be getting into Slytherin. What about you, Potter?"

"Er… what's a Slytherin?"

The big boys started sniggering, but Draco quieted them with a glare and two sharp kicks. "Quiet. It's not his fault. He's led a deprived life."

"I don't know if it's exactly _deprived_…"

"Shut up. Yes it is." Harry could only stare, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. "Slytherin is the absolute best House at Hogwarts. It's where all great wizards go. My father was a Slytherin, and his father before him, and so on for generations."

Draco paused to take a breath, so Harry slipped in a question while he had the chance (he was starting to think that Draco liked to talk a lot, so he'd need to speak up more to get a word in edgewise). "What do you mean by House?"

The two larger boys' faces were carefully blank as Draco's face twisted in disbelief. "Did that big man teach you nothing? The four Houses are how they divide each Hogwarts class. They're Slytherin—the best one, remember—Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and…" The compartment door opened, and a red-headed boy poked his head in. "…Gryffindor."

They all turned to stare at the newcomer. Harry recognized him as Ron, the youngest boy of the red-headed family. He had a black smudge on his nose.

"Is there room in here?" the redhead asked, eyeing the two large boys warily. "Everywhere else is full."

Draco's lip was curled in an expression of utmost disgust, but Harry, eager to meet new people, beat him to it. "Of course." Draco gave Harry a disbelieving look. "Just scoot over, Draco."

The paler boy unhappily complied, but the brightening of Ron's face as he sat down next to Draco was well worth the boy's displeasure. Draco slumped back in his seat in a pout; this made it easier for Harry to see the red-head over him.

The twins stopped by long enough to introduce themselves as Fred and George, then scurried off to look at a friend's tarantula. Ron looked slightly green at that.

After a minute of silence in which the two large boys seemed to be trying to glare at both Ron and Harry at once, Ron blurted out, "Are you really Harry Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"Oh – well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes. And have you really got… you know…" He pointed at Harry's forehead.

At that, Draco sat up straight and snapped, "The scar? Merlin, you can't think of a word like 'scar'?"

Harry frowned. Ron's ears turned red, and he said, "I wasn't talking to you. It's not polite to butt in like that."

"Well, you are talking _over_ me, so I don't think polite has much to do with it, and I can therefore 'butt in' any time I like. Or are you only interested in the _famous_ Harry Potter?"

Harry smoothed his hair over his scar. He didn't like people wanting to know him just because he was famous; he was glad that Draco, at least, understood that.

"Well then, who are you?"

"I am Draco Malfoy, and this is Crabbe and Goyle." Ron made a sound that might have been a suppressed snigger. Draco narrowed his eyes. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Harry made a sound of protest, not liking Draco's tone.

Face beet-red, Ron said, "Oh yeah? Well, my dad says that your dad wasn't bewitched into following You-Know-Who like everyone says. My dad says your dad didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

And just like that, all will to defend the red-head fled. Harry had to clench his fists and stare at the floor to control the sudden anger he felt. Draco had gone very still, and Crabbe and Goyle both looked a sneeze away from pouncing on Ron. Harry didn't blame them.

"How dare you," said Harry. All four other boys looked at him. Harry glared at Ron Weasley. "How dare you bring You-Know-Who into this, and say something like that. It's just low."

"He started it!"

"So that makes it all right to accuse his family of that? When I'm sitting right here? I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, aren't I? Do you really think it's a good idea to be accusing one of my friends of something like that?"

The boy's face seemed to be alternating between red and green. "I'm… I didn't mean it like that…"

Draco, who had been staring at Harry, turned back to Ron and drawled, "Then how _did_ you mean it, Weasley?"

"I just… I mean…"

"Rat got your tongue, Weasley?"

Harry found that he didn't feel the need to defend the red-head from Draco anymore. "You should probably leave."

Ron moved his mouth, growing redder and redder. Then, slowly, he stood up and, still looking shocked, left the compartment.

As soon as he was gone, Draco made a face at the door. "Good riddance."

Harry sat back in his chair, feeling discouraged that that had gone so badly.

Strangely, Draco seemed to pick up on it. "Don't act so surprised. It never would have worked out. The Weasleys are very much the wrong sort. It would have shown itself eventually."

"His family seemed so nice," Harry said glumly.

"That's how they get you. But they've got nasty tempers, and they've got even less brains than they do money. Or so Father says." Draco gave Harry another assessing look. "Cheer up, Potter. You can't make friends with everyone. It's a matter of quality, not quantity."

Harry looked at Draco, and briefly wondered whether he'd made the right decision in siding with him. Draco was stuck-up, and not very nice. Then again, Ron Weasley's comment about Draco's father had been completely out of line.

They continued to talk about the wizarding world and, when the snack cart came by, Draco treated the other three to all they could eat. Which was quite a lot, since Harry hadn't had breakfast and Crabbe and Goyle were – well – Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry was beginning to get used to the two larger boys. They didn't have Dudley's loud, overbearing presence (that was more Draco's thing), so he found his initial fear of them fading.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Gryffindors, now they're the ones you have to look out for," Draco said while the four of them ate their way through various pasties, cakes, and candies. He had kept up a constant narrative on everything magical throughout their ride so far, from famous wizards he owned Chocolate Frog cards of, to just how much he expected to excel at Potions because he was _absolutely brilliant_ at it, to what model of broom he was going to get his father to buy, and back to the Houses. "My father says Gryffindors are suicidal glory-seekers with hero complexes."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked.

Draco screwed his face up for a moment. "It means that they like to go around slaying dragons, and then feed themselves to them, I guess."

Harry smiled. "You're making that up."

"I am not! That's what it means!"

Harry sniggered. "You're funny."

Draco looked affronted. "What? What do you mean by that? Answer me, Potter!"

Harry just smiled and chewed on a toffee. Draco _was _funny, he realized, and he didn't even try. There was something comical about his arrogantly overbearing manner, just because he didn't _quite_ pull it off.

Sometime later, there was a knock on the compartment door. Neville, the round-faced boy Harry had passed on the platform, came in, his face tearful.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

Draco sneered. "A toad? You lost a toad?"

The unsuspecting boy nodded.

"It's better for both of you. No one who's anyone uses toads anymore, and he's probably better off away from someone who can't keep track of him."

The boy abruptly burst into tears and fled.

That was as much as Harry could take. "What did you do that for?"

"What?"

"You made him cry! For no reason!"

Draco turned to stare at Harry. "No reason? Haven't you been listening at all? I don't need a reason, because he's the wrong sort, and that means I'm better than him."

"Really."

Draco began to fidget with agitation. "How can you…? Look, I wouldn't expect you to know this, being raised by Muggles and all, but there's plenty of reasons purebloods are better than Mudbloods. Our magic is purer, our history is richer, and we don't consort with Muggles."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"Muggles and magic don't mix, Potter!" He was gesturing wildly with his exasperation. "A long time ago, magic and Muggles mixed, and you know what happened? _They burned us at the stake_. There's a reason we have to live in secret now, because _they_ can't handle it. Every Muggle brought into our world is a threat to our safety."

Harry digested that for a couple minutes. He imagined hundreds of people like the Dursleys, locking children in closets to try to beat the magic out of them… suddenly, he could definitely see Draco's point. "But… what does that boy have to do with it? Even if his family is the 'wrong sort,' it's not his fault."

Draco frowned in a way that showed that he didn't much care.

"Draco, you remind me of my Muggle cousin. He picks on people weaker than him too."

"Weaker?" Draco said disdainfully. "Weakness has nothing to do with it, Potter. You may not have noticed, but I'm not exactly the strongest one here." He motioned to Crabbe and Goyle, who were watching their conversation with bored expressions.

Harry frowned. The other boy had a point. Draco seemed to be the leader of the three of them, despite the fact that either Crabbe or Goyle _alone_ could have beaten him to a pulp, much less both of them together. "What is it about, then?"

"Power." When Harry's frown deepened, Draco drawled, "You want to make a difference in the world, don't you Potter? Have people respect you for the things you do instead of what's on your forehead?"

Harry rubbed at his scar self-consciously.

"In order to do that, you've got to have power. Seize it early and often; that's what my father says. Show them you can lead, and they'll follow you of their own will."

Harry pondered that for the rest of the train ride, even while Draco moved back to more casual topics. It made an odd sort of sense, although it was hard to shake the feeling that 'power' wasn't exactly the right thing to be reaching for.


	2. The Sorting Hat

**2: The Sorting Hat**

Harry, of course, climbed into a boat with Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. Everyone was silent as the boats glided over the lake, staring up at the castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer the cliff on which it stood.

After they'd gone through a tunnel and reached an underground harbor, everyone clambered out.

"Oy, you there! Is this yer toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" Neville cried blissfully, holding out his hands. Harry glanced over and noticed that Ron Weasley had apparently shared a boat with him, along with a blond-haired boy and the frizzy-haired girl who had briefly stopped by their compartment, asked about Neville's toad, and then left. She didn't seem to care much that it had been found, considering she'd likely spent most of the train ride trying to track it down.

Goyle gave Harry a nudge, and he followed the rest of the first-years after Hagrid. They stopped in front of a huge, oak front door. Hagrid checked the crowd one last time, then raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door open and led them through an entrance hall bigger than the Dursley's house. There was a marble staircase facing them, and Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to his right.

Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. There, Professor McGonagall launched into an explanation of the Houses, and the points system.

The professor finished with, "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron Weasley's smudged nose. Harry heard Draco quietly suppress a snigger, but was too busy trying to flatten his hair to respond.

"I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." Professor McGonagall left. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" he asked Draco.

The pale boy shrugged. "My father says it's some sort of ridiculous ceremony. He also mentioned something about 'never wanting to touch that filthy thing again,' whatever that means."

"My brother Fred says you have to wrestle a troll," Ron Weasley's voice piped up. Harry looked, and saw that the red-head was glaring straight at the two of them. "Can you wrestle a troll, Malfoy?"

"Better than you can, Weasley," Draco drawled back, sounding unconcerned. However, Harry had been listening to Draco's voice for quite some time now, so he could identify a slight quaver of uncertainty in it.

Harry very nearly panicked. If Draco was worried, Harry should be out-right terrified. Draco at least knew a bit about what to expect from the magical world: Harry was still new at this. He didn't think they'd have to wrestle a troll… but what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected anything like this the moment they arrived.

He looked around anxiously, and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. Everyone had fallen silent, except for the frizzy-haired girl, who was whispering to herself very fast. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air—several people behind him screamed.

He turned around and gasped with everyone else as about twenty ghosts streamed through the back wall. They argued about someone named Peeves, then paused to greet the first-years. The one who was addressed as the Friar had just started lauding Hufflepuff house when Professor McGonagall returned and shooed the ghosts away.

Then, she had the first-years form into a line and led them into the Great Hall.

Harry had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands of floating candles, above four long tables laid with golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up there, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. He could see why Draco's father hadn't wanted to touch it; it was the sort of thing that Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let in the house.

He wondered what they would have to do that would require touching it as he stared at it with the rest of the hall. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then, the hat twitched, and a rip near the brim opened and sang:

"_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can top them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_If you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and became quite still again.

"Weasley's such an idiot," Draco drawled in Harry's ear. "I knew we wouldn't have to wrestle a troll." Harry hid a smile, because he could hear the relief underneath his friend's harsh words. Then, the smile faltered, because he remembered that he would have to try the hat on with everyone watching.

The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot. Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward with a long roll of parchment and started calling out names. When the first Gryffindor was Sorted, Harry spotted the Weasley twins cat-calling the new girl. The queasy feeling increased. What if he ended up in that house? Seeing that the other Weasleys also sat at that table, Harry thought he might know where the youngest would go. He very much did not want to end up wherever Ron Weasley went.

Vincent Crabbe was sent to Slytherin quickly, followed a couple names later by Gregory Goyle. Harry felt Draco press closer to his side.

He watched with partial interest as the high-strung frizzy-haired girl (Hermoine Granger) was placed in Gryffindor. Even more surprising, Neville (Longbottom) also went to Gryffindor (and almost took the Sorting Hat with him). "Brave" and "daring" weren't exactly words Harry would have used on that boy, but then again, the hat had taken a long time with him. Maybe Neville didn't fit _any_ of the Houses.

Draco stepped up when his name was called, lapping up the attention of several hundred people like a cat would milk. The hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Draco went to join Crabbe and Goyle, obviously pleased. Then, he turned to watch Harry expectantly.

Six more names were called. Then, at last…

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_ did she say?"

"_The_ Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, _Not Gryffindor, not Gryffindor._

"Not Gryffindor, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be a hero, you know, it's all here in your head. Everyone will love you and cheer on your great heroic deeds – no? Well, if you're sure – better be SLYTHERIN!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table, where Draco was making a spot for him. He was so relieved to have not been put in Gryffindor, he hardly noticed the odd collection of sounds spreading through the hall. The Slytherin table was cheering harder than they had for anyone else. However, among the cheers, a ripple of whispered conversation broke out over the other tables.

Draco gave him a cocky grin as Harry took a seat between him and Gregory Goyle. "I knew you were Slytherin material, Potter."

As soon as Professor McGonagall called the next name, the rest of Slytherin House began falling over one another to introduce themselves to Harry, some rattling off pedigrees while others listed subjects they were willing to tutor him in. Harry's head began to spin, and that queasy feeling in his stomach returned in force.

He was both surprised and grateful when Goyle moved in and began batting people away. The other students got the idea, and the tide of introductions ebbed.

Harry smiled gratefully at Goyle. "Thank you, Goyle. May I call you Gregory?"

"If you want." He didn't seem to care one way or another, but it was the first thing the large boy had said to him, so Harry counted it as progress.

Harry took his chance to take a look at the High Table. And the far end sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him a half-hearted wave. Something seemed to be bothering the large man. In the center of the High Table sat Albus Dumbledore, who Harry recognized from a Chocolate Frog card from the train ride. He also spotted Professor Quirrell, the nervous man from the Leaky Cauldron, who now wore a strange large purple turban.

Ron Weasley's name was called about then, and the boy strode to the hat, having turned slightly green. When the hat shouted "GRYFFINDOR," Harry was relieved to know that he had guessed right.

Slytherin table got the last cheer as "Zabini, Blaise" joined their ranks. Harry shivered briefly as a gaunt, liquid-coated ghost who had been hovering nearby swooped through him to join the new boy.

The table was just settling down again as Albus Dumbledore got to his feet.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody at the other tables (not Slytherin, though) clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he… a bit mad?" he whispered uncertainly.

"Only completely," hissed a fifth-year girl sitting across from him. She had scraggly black hair and a hooked nose. "Don't underestimate him, though; he's wicked crafty."

Harry nodded a hesitant thanks then glanced at the table, only to feel his mouth fall open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. Unused to being able to eat anything he wanted, Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"Careful there, Potter," a new voice said behind them. "Wouldn't want you to choke so soon into the year."

Harry turned, and saw a tall, athletic-looking boy standing behind him. He had short brown hair, a silver badge with the letter "P" on his breast, and a face that was eerily blank of all expression.

"Erm, okay."

The boy eyed Harry for a moment, then said coolly, "I am Terence Higgs, seventh year prefect. Therefore, I know what I'm talking about when I say that we don't need any heroes in our House."

"That's good, because I'm not a hero. I'm just Harry."

The corner of Higgs' mouth briefly quirked into something near a smile, but it was gone a moment later. "Good." With that curious remark, he walked off and resumed his place down the table.

Draco was giving him a funny look out of the corner of his eye. "You're not a hero? That's a bit like saying I'm not a blonde, Potter."

"I'm _not_ a hero." Harry stabbed at his potatoes over a chorus of gasps and cries coming from the Gryffindor table. He thought he heard someone say that Neville Longbottom had fainted, but didn't really want to turn to look. "I'm famous because, in some sort of freak accident, I survived something I shouldn't have. I can't even remember it."

Draco looked doubtful, but didn't press it.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the plates were wiped clean and dessert appeared. As Harry helped himself to treacle tart, Draco dominated the conversation.

"My father works in the Ministry, of course. Anyone who's important does. He says there's lots of Muggle-lovers in the Ministry, so there are days he feels like the only sane one. I can't wait until they manage to get the Muggle-lovers out. Then the Ministry will actually be able to do important things without worrying about _their_ stupid feelings all the time."

"Like what important things?" asked a pug-nosed girl sitting nearby.

Draco looked pleased at the question. "Like making Hogwarts allow first years on the Quidditch team. I've always said that I'd be the best player the team could have, if they'd let me on. Don't I say that, Potter?"

"All the time," Harry mumbled around his tart.

"It's because of the Mudbloods, you know, that the rule is there in the first place. They can't fly, so the rest of us have to wait while they figure it out. It's not fair at all. I know how to fly. I'm an excellent flyer. I used to fly over the grounds of the Manor every day, catching birds with my bare hands. Once, I was in a flock of them with a Beater's bat, practicing my aim, when they blocked me in from all sides and flew me right into a giant Muggle flying contraption. A lelochopper… ellotopper…"

"Helicopter?" Harry supplied.

"That's it. They flew me right into a hello-copter. It had these giant whirling blades trying to take my head off, but I was too fast and smart for it. I dodged under the blades and tipped my nose up to avoid spinning out of control. I narrowly escaped with my life, and the Muggles had to be Obliviated so they couldn't tell anyone about me, because I was amazing on my broom."

Several other first-years (and quite a few older ones) had gathered in close to listen to Draco's story. He was an excellent storyteller, gesturing broadly with his hands and speaking with the eloquence and ease of someone born with natural charisma. The other Slytherins responded well to it, to the point where the pug-nosed girl was getting a bit starry-eyed.

Harry, however, didn't believe the story one bit, and smiled into his dessert. He was beginning to catch on to Draco's way of doing things. The boy rambled when he was trying to make an impression—he'd done it in Madam Malkins', and he did it here. It didn't seem to matter what the topic was, as long as he made himself sound impressive and worth knowing. It was a rather aggressive way of making friends, but it was that nonetheless.

The other Slytherins started asking questions about Draco's near-death experience, which the pale boy answered with obvious pleasure, although he tried to look like he didn't care. He embellished shamelessly on the story.

Harry wasn't really listening. He was starting to feel warm and sleepy as he looked at the High Table. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. His eyes skimmed to the next, but he only caught a brief glimpse of purple and black before a sudden, sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

Draco broke off his narrative to ask, "You okay there, Potter?"

"Er.. yeah. Fine. Sorry." After looking at him with varying levels of concern (for his sanity, not his health), the rest of the table went back to listening to Draco.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harry glanced around, but there was no way of knowing what had caused the pain in his scar. Everything appeared normal.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch."

Draco's voice hissed, "Anyone second year or above. It's discrimination, I say!" Harry sniggered with several other nearby Slytherins.

"…year, the third-floor corridor on the right side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry sniggered again, but he was one of the few who did.

"He not serious?" he asked in alarm.

In response, the scraggly-haired fifth year across the table just smirked. She pointed to Professor Dumbledore and mouthed the word "Mad."

Harry looked over at Dumbledore with increasing alarm, suddenly feeling just a little less safe.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Harry noticed most of the older Slytherins covering their ears, and followed suit. A moment later, he was glad he had, as the hall was filled with a terrible racket. Everyone finished at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing in a very slow funeral march.

"By Salazar, could they just finish already?" Draco hissed in Harry's ear. "I think they're holding the rest of us up on purpose."

"Actually, I think they're just trying to be funny," Harry whispered back.

"They wouldn't know funny if it flew them into a deadly hello-copter."

Harry smiled. "Still on that, are you?"

"Shut up. It was the first thing that popped into my head." Harry sniggered.

Finally, a scattering of claps signaled that the twins had finished. "Ah, music," Dumbledore said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first years followed a blank-faced Terence Higgs through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down into the dungeons. Harry's legs were like lead, because he was tired and full of food. He was glad they seemed to be heading downwards instead of up, as he wasn't sure he could win a battle with gravity at the moment.

While they went, Higgs coolly listed off a series of rules that Harry suspected the Headmaster had nothing to do with: "Rule One is to always keep a unified front with regards to your House. Disputes belong inside the dormitories and common room, nowhere else. Rule Two is 'Don't get caught.' No one has the responsibility to stand up for you if you get yourself into something nasty. Rule Three is to never do something that jeopardizes House standing. That goes hand-in-hand with Rule Two…" and on it went. Harry tuned him out after a while.

After several minutes navigating a labyrinth of corridors, the prefect stopped them in front of a blank stone wall. "This is where our common room is hidden. Just speak the password to get in. 'Dignity'."

A hidden door in the stone wall slid open, and Higgs led them into a long, low underground chamber, decorated with high-backed chairs and an elaborate mantelpiece under hanging lamps on chains.

At the end of the long chamber were two corridors. Higgs directed the four girls down one corridor, then led the six boys down the other. He stopped at a door about half-way down, opening it to reveal a bedroom. Carpets covered the stone floor, and the walls were hung with tapestries, all green. The furniture itself was as elaborate as the mantelpiece in the common room, with each bed getting a heavy wardrobe, a matching nightstand, and a wooden chest. It was all very rich, but oddly impersonal.

Harry wandered in and found his trunk already hefted onto the bed to the right of the door. Draco's was the bed next to his, with Crabbe and Goyle's against the adjacent wall. The other two boys, Zabini and Nott, were on the wall opposite Harry's.

Higgs hovered in the doorway. "I don't want to hear about the cramped quarters causing any trouble, understand? If you have problems, settle it amongst yourselves."

"This is cramped?" Harry asked incredulously. It wasn't a large chamber, but Harry had spent ten years living in a closet. This was more than enough room for him.

"These rooms are sized for five, not six," Higgs explained coolly. "I don't think there's been a class, of any House, in all my years here, that wasn't divided evenly into five boys and five girls. This is something of an anomaly. It's almost as if there's someone here who shouldn't be." He gave Harry a lingering look, then turned and left.

Harry could see Zabini and Nott looking at him funny, but was too tired to think about it right then. Silently, all six boys pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed. Harry fell asleep almost at once.

Perhaps he had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was wearing the Sorting Hat, its voice listing off the four Houses one after the other. He tried to take it off, only to find that it was actually Professor Quirrell's purple turban, and it would not come off. "You could have been a hero," said the Sorting Hat's voice, growing louder and louder. "Are you sure? Everyone would have loved you. _Are you sure_?" It shouted that last line, and suddenly the turban tightened around his head, and then Ron Weasley and—oddly enough—Neville Longbottom were standing in front of him, laughing as he struggled. It tightened painfully, and the laughter became high and cold. There was a burst of green light, and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke up the next day, he didn't remember the dream at all.


	3. Friends and Professors

**3: Friends and Professors**

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the titchy blond kid."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes. Draco, on the other hand, was lapping it up.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led to somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. There were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely or tickled them, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid stone walls just pretending. Then of course, there was the door that was pretending to be a solid stone wall, which Harry could never seem to locate on his first try.

It was very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Peeves the Poltergeist was well worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!" The Slytherin first years learned early to clump around the Bloody Baron and let him escort them to class. He was the only ghost that Peeves listened to.

Even worse than Peeves was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first evening. They were following Draco back to the common room after dinner, and managed to get completely turned around. By the time Draco was willing to admit that, yes, perhaps he was a bit lost, they had no idea where they were or how to get back to the Entrance Hall.

Yet somehow, the caretaker's scrawny cat, Mrs. Norris, managed to find them. She whisked off and returned with a wheezing Mr. Filch less than a minute later. He made a remark about how he'd lock them in the dungeons for being out past curfew, but then said that that wouldn't be any different from a normal night for the Slytherins. Then, he'd laughed and dragged the two smaller boys back to the Slytherin dormitories by their ears, Crabbe and Goyle trailing ponderously behind.

Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and many Slytherins spent their free time dreaming up creative ways to do away with Mrs. Norris.

And then, once you had managed to find the rooms, there were the classes themselves. Given the odd range of professors, Harry was beginning to believe that Professor Dumbledore was, indeed, more than a little mad. At least with regards to staffing.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. Harry sighed and hid his face as the rest of the class sniggered.

After Charms was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which the Slytherins went to with rolled eyes and stifled groans. Professor Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a huge joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back for him. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie. Judging by the smell, there was still a bit of zombie stuck to it.

The Slytherins all had a good laugh about him in the common room that evening, when Draco wrapped a pillowcase around his head and mimicked twitchy Professor Quirrell trying to ward off a zombie, but stuttering over the spells. The hypothetical zombie apparently decided that there were no brains to be had in the vicinity of Professor Quirrell and wandered away, at which point Quirrell-Draco did an impressively dramatic faint of relief. Even the older years erupted into gales of laughter.

Twice a week, the Slytherin first-years went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology alongside the Ravenclaws. The class was taught by a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout. The Slytherins immediately took to quietly sabotaging the Ravenclaw projects, not liking being upstaged by the more studious house.

Professor McGonagall was different. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking to the moment they sat down in her first class, warning against messing around, and then turned her desk into a pig. The theory portion was complicated, and no one managed to turn their match into a needle on the first day. Zabini did manage to get a nasty point on the end of his, though. Harry watched him smile slyly and pocket it.

Every Tuesday at midnight, they had Astronomy, where they studied the night skies through telescopes and learned the names of different stars and planets. The class was taught by Professor Sinistra, a tall, elegant witch who tended to look up far more than around. Draco quickly decided on the first night that the class was a pointless waste of time. Then again, that might have had more to do with the fact that Theodore Nott kept making quips about his name, rather than the class itself.

The Slytherin first-years quickly developed a pecking order among themselves, as seemed to be typical of the House. Draco headed the boys with his easy charisma (although he often deferred to Harry. Harry found out early that Draco allowed no one else to call him by his first name). Pansy Parkinson led the girls through sheer bossiness, but was just as deep under Draco's sway as Crabbe and Goyle were. Even Blaise Zabini followed Draco with his quiet aloofness, although by the looks he gave Harry, the darker boy obviously thought that Harry was beneath him.

The only first-year who seemed to disapprove of—and even _disdain_—Draco's position as the epicenter of Slytherin activity was a weedy boy named Theodore Nott. Nott watched their antics and laughed along with everyone else, but seemed to prefer reading quietly in a corner to participating in the thriving social life that set Slytherin apart.

The Slytherins had History of Magic the morning after their late night Astronomy class, so they all took this as a chance to catch up on missed sleep. Not only did most of the pureblooded Slytherins already know quite a bit about magical history, but the class itself was the most tedious thing Harry had ever experienced. Professor Binns was a ghost with a flat, droning voice. Common Slytherin lore said that Professor Binns had simply bored himself to death one day and was now trying to do the same to everyone else.

Then, there was Potions. But that happened after he had dragged Draco down to Hagrid's hut for tea.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry any mail so far. She wouldn't have done well in the dungeons, so she'd been given a spot in the Owlery. She sometimes flew in at breakfast to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast.

Then, on Thursday, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you get Thursday afternoons off so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about how your first week is going so far. Send us an answer back with Hedwig._

_Hagrid._

Harry borrowed Draco's quill which, of course, prompted the other boy to start asking nosy questions. As Harry scribbled an affirmative answer, Draco made a face and went back to his breakfast. Harry didn't tell Draco that he fully intended to take him with, because he didn't think the blonde would take that very well.

Sure enough, that afternoon, Draco did not in fact take it very well.

"But I don't _want_ to meet Hagrid," Draco whined as Harry physically dragged him out of the castle. Crabbe and Goyle trailed silently behind. "He's big and he smells awful, and I'm _pretty _sure he's not completely human."

"He's my friend, and that's means you'll meet him, no matter what. And you're going to be civil, too."

"But Pooootteeeer…"

"I'm not listening."

"Pooooooootteeeeeer…"

"I'm not your father, Draco. Whining won't work on me."

Draco whined all the way down to the wooden hut along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked, they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks, and Harry had to grip Draco's collar to keep him from bolting back to the castle. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "_Back_, Fang – _back._"

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "_Back_, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound. There was only one room inside, with meat hanging from the ceiling, a kettle over an open fire, and a massive bed in one corner.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight to Crabbe and started licking his face. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"These are my friends," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate. "Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle."

"Malfoy, eh?" Hagrid said, glancing at Draco's blond hair. His black eyes flickered to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry saw uncertainty there. Draco's icy expression seemed to be making the man nervous. "Nice ter meet yeh. S'good to see you makin' friends Harry. Now how about you get comfy and tell me all about yer lessons?"

Harry launched into it as best he could, and Hagrid slowly relaxed. Draco looked around disdainfully at first… but when Harry started telling Hagrid about their run-in with Filch, Draco suddenly cried out that Harry was murdering a perfectly good story and launched into a proper tale, complete with an eerily accurate impression of Mrs. Norris.

Harry sat back and watched his friend, taking a rock cake from the platter Hagrid had set out. It was a shapeless lump with raisins that almost broke his teeth, but he pretended to enjoy it. Out of one eye, he could see that Fang had made a comfortable spot for himself sprawled over Crabbe's lap. Crabbe stared around with his usual dull expression, but, as Harry watched, his hand subtly scratched the dog behind his ears.

Draco finished his story and sat back. He openly studied Hagrid when the man called Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid a' her – Filch puts her up to it."

"No doubt about that," Draco agreed readily. "You know, she seems a lot smarter than she ought to be. I bet she's not all she seems."

"Yeah?"

The two spoke for a short while after that, until it faded into awkward silence. Draco was being civil, but stiff. Hagrid was being friendly, but nervous. It was as good as it was likely to get, so Harry called it a victory and said that they should probably get going.

Draco said a polite goodbye and left as quickly as he could without being obvious about how much he wanted to leave. Crabbe followed behind. Fang looked mournfully after him.

Goyle paused for a moment at the door, then turned and asked in his low, raspy voice, "Ya have any more rock cakes? For later?"

Harry realized at that moment that the rock cakes Hagrid had set out were actually gone. Goyle, apparently, could eat anything.

Hagrid was delighted by the question. "O' course, o' course!" He dug into his pockets, pulled out a handful, and handed them to Goyle. "Stop by again sometime if yeh wan' more."

Goyle nodded, then turned and left. Harry shook his head in mild disbelief and made to follow, but a heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"Hold up a secon', Harry."

Harry turned to look at Hagrid.

"'Harry, I jus' want ter make sure… yer happy in Slytherin, right?"

"Of course I am, Hagrid."

"Yeh'd tell me if they were doin' somethin' bad to yeh? Treatin' yeh funny?"

"I don't understand."

"It's just…" Hagrid looked around nervously, not wanting to meet his eyes. "It's just that Slytherin has a lot o' history, if yeh know what I mean. Lots o' Death Eater families come from there."

Harry considered that, a little hurt by what his friend was saying. Slowly, he said, "That was a long time ago, Hagrid. They're not so bad now."

"Okay Harry. Okay. Jus' wanted ter make sure." Hagrid didn't look relieved, but he forced a smile and nudged Harry, causing him to stumble forward out of the hut. "Visit me again soon!"

Harry rejoined the other three halfway to the dungeons. Draco immediately drawled, "While I admit that was an _interesting_ diversion into the life of the squalid, Potter, I'll be indebted to you forever if you never make me step foot in that shack again."

Harry just smiled, finding Draco's arrogance far less offensive now than he'd used to. "Thank you for behaving yourself, Draco."

"'Behaving myself?' Potter, you make me sound like a naughty child!"

"You are."

"I'll have you know I am almost two months older than you. If either of us is a child, it is you."

"Okay. Can I have a lollypop?"

"A what?"

"A lollypop. It's a-"

"I know what a lollypop is, Potter! I just can't understand your logic."

"If I'm the child, you have to do everything I say. That's how it happens in your house, as I understand."

Draco worked his mouth for a couple seconds before he got any words out. "There are times, Potter, that I wonder whether you really are Slytherin material. Then, you say something like that."

"I'll take that as a compliment. And admit it, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be."

"Perhaps. But I am still not doing it again. Trust me, Potter, it just won't work."

"Fair enough."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Potions lessons took place on Friday mornings down in one of the dungeons. It was colder than other classrooms, but the Slytherins were well used to this, and so were prepared. However, they were not prepared for the sight of pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. Nor were they prepared to share a class with _Gryffindors_, but then, little could have prepared them for that.

Professor Snape was head of Slytherin House, but Harry had only seen him in passing and at mealtimes. He had greasy black hear, a hooked nose, and sallow skin, and seemed to regard Harry with a particular dislike.

This was reinforced at the beginning of their first Potions class. Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, _yes_," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new… _celebrity_."

Draco started sniggering, just because he _knew_ how much that annoyed Harry. Harry gave his friend a look, but Draco was entirely unapologetic. He also heard some whispers from the Gryffindor side of the room, but didn't acknowledge them.

Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black and cold, like dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death –if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Harry glanced at Draco, only to see his friend sporting a knowing smirk, as if he was in on a joke no one else was. Crabbe and Goyle just watched Snape blankly, looking like the aforementioned dunderheads.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_Powdered root of what to an infusion of what?_ Harry glanced at Draco. His friend abruptly moved so that the cauldron hid him from Snape's view and then caught Harry's eyes with his own. As Harry watched, he pillowed his cheek on his hands and mimicked sleep.

"Erm… you sleep, sir?"

Snape's lip curled. Hermoine Granger's hand waved in the air, so she clearly had something to add, but Professor Snape ignored her.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Draco gestured incomprehensibly. Harry stared at him, not catching on, and then he realized he had been silent for more than ten seconds. Granger's hand seemed to be pulling her out of her seat. "I don't know, sir."

"Fame clearly isn't everything. What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Draco gave a quick shake of his head and mouthed "none."

"There isn't one, sir?"

Granger plopped back into her seat with a thump while Snape sneered at him silently for a moment. "Tut tut. I suggest, Mr. Potter, that in the future you open a book before coming into class. You will not always have Mr. Malfoy to feed you answers from behind a cauldron."

Draco moved back to his seat, looking sheepish but not the least bit apologetic. Harry was surprised Draco didn't get scolded any more than that.

"For your information, Potter, yes, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, but they also go by the name aconite. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. And asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging of quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for leaving your seat without permission, Miss Granger." The Slytherins stifled sniggers as the girl's face reddened with outrage.

Things didn't improve as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all in pairs and set them mixing up a simple potion to cure boils.

As Harry and Draco set up their workspace, Harry whispered, "I can't believe you knew all the answers, Draco. Did you memorize _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ like that Granger girl?"

Draco scoffed. "I'll have you know Potions is one of my best subjects. I'm brilliant at it. I'm sure I've told you that before."

"Honestly, I thought you were just being full of yourself, as usual. I didn't think you were actually telling the _truth_."

Draco looked affronted, but the expression faded as Harry continued to grin at him. "Yes, well," he said haughtily. "Now you won't make that mistake again."

Professor Snape swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Draco. He avoided looking at Harry as he told everyone to look at the perfect way Mr. Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs.

Then, a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Finnigan's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds the whole class was standing on their stools while Longbottom, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Longbottom whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Finnigan. He looked over at Harry with narrowed eyes, as if he wanted to somehow blame the mess on him, despite the fact that Harry was on the other side of the room. He settled with growling, "What are the rest of you staring at? Get back to work."

As they climbed out of the dungeon an hour later, Draco was still laughing. "How do you manage to make a boil-_causing_ potion out of one that cures it? I say, that Longbottom boy is an absolute _menace!_" He nearly fell over himself with laughter. Harry just walked beside him, his mind racing. Snape didn't dislike him – he _hated _him_._ But _why_? Harry was pretty sure he'd never met the Professor before, but Snape's hatred seemed too personal to be caused by anything else.


	4. A Game of Catch

**4: A Game of Catch**

That weekend, a notice was pinned up in the Slytherin Common room that made Draco's irritation reach an unhealthy level. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday – and Slytherin and Gryffindor would be learning together.

"Isn't that _marvelous_?" Draco hissed as he stormed in a circle around their bedroom. "Not only do those Muggle-lovers stop the rest of us from trying out for Quidditch, they rub it in our faces by bumbling through learning to fly right in front of us."

"I really don't think they're doing it on purpose," Harry pointed out, ever Draco's voice of reason. He was sitting on his own bed, pretending to try to write an essay. Crabbe and Goyle perched at his feet devouring the chocolates Mrs. Malfoy had sent Draco that morning.

"Well, they may not be doing _that_ on purpose… but I know for a fact that they're _existing_ on purpose, and that really burns me up!"

Harry sniggered, earning him an icy glare.

"At least Longbottom will be there," Nott piped up mildly from his own bed. He didn't even look up from his book. "I'm sure he'll make a spectacular ass of himself somehow. You like to revel in his pain, right?"

Draco sneered. "Oh, who asked you, Nott!"

Honestly, Harry was a nervous. He had been looking forward to flying more than anything else. However, he was afraid he'd make a fool of himself his first time on a broom. To do so in front of the Slytherins would be bad enough (they'd never let him live it down) but to have the Gryffindors there as well? Just thinking about it made him feel sick to his stomach. Not that he'd ever tell any of his housemates that.

None of them seemed nervous. Likely, they had all grown up on brooms, so Harry would be the only Slytherin who had never done this before. He thought he might know how Longbottom felt; he didn't look forward to being laughed at.

SSSSSSSSSSSS

By Thursday, Draco's mood had swung back to the other side of the spectrum, because he was looking forward to seeing the many ways the Gryffindors might fail. When they entered the Great Hall that morning, Draco steered the four of them toward the Gryffindor table, obviously hoping to get a little taunting in.

Harry sighed and walked alongside his friend. This was the side of Draco he didn't like, as it reminded him so much of Dudley. However, he put up with it, and tried to keep it in check, because he knew there was more to his friend than that spoiled, cruel daddy's-boy he seemed to be. He stuck by his friends, no matter their faults.

Longbottom had just opened a package and pulled out a color-changing ball of some sort. Harry could practically see Draco locking on target.

"…tight like this and if it turns red – oh…" The ball was turning red. "…you've forgotten something…"

The next moment, the Slytherins reached Longbottom, and Draco snatched the ball right out of his hand.

Weasley jumped to his feet, looking ready for a fight, and Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle all moved in to defend Draco. Before anything could happen, though, Professor McGonagall was there.

"What's going on?"

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor."

Scowling, Draco quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and sloped away. Harry gave Weasley a stern look, then followed behind him with Crabbe and Goyle.

The four took their normal seats at the Slytherin table, and Harry said, "I don't know why you feel the need to pick on Longbottom all the time."

Draco gave him a look, still pouting from being caught. "Oh, what would you know, Potter?"

"I know you think he's an easy target. I know you think it's funny. And I know he hasn't done anything to deserve it."

"He does deserve it. For existing."

"Be serious, Draco."

Draco just made a face at him and dug into his breakfast.

But Harry wasn't done yet. "I know it makes you feel like a big person."

"Shove off, Potter."

"He's fragile already. So you pick on him because you know he won't fight back."

"I said _shove off_, Potter. I'm eating."

"But how long do you think that's going to last before you break him? Then either he'll lash back at you, or someone else will."

"Oh, how would you know?"

Harry made a growling noise and snatched Draco's plate away. When Draco turned an icy glare at him, Harry met ice with fire. "How would I know? Because I was in Longbottom's position against my cousin Dudley for ten years. There is nothing I'd like more than to transfigure my cousin into an insect, just so I could squish him. In a couple years, I'll be able to do that, and it's very, very tempting. Now imagine Longbottom finding the power to get back at you like that."

"That's different. Longbottom's always going to be that stupid little screw-up-"

"That's what my cousin thought. Then, I found out I was a wizard. Imagine his surprise, Draco."

Draco glared at Harry, turning defensive. "So what, now you're Longbottom's bodyguard or something?"

"No. I just don't find meaningless cruelty funny. If you're going to torment someone, pick someone who deserves to be knocked down a peg, like Righteous Ronald Weasley or that know-it-all, Granger. Don't pick on the weakest one just because you're looking for a target."

Draco looked at him for a long, long time. Then, he finished his breakfast and left for class. The two didn't talk for the rest of the morning.

SSSSSSSSSSSS

The Slytherins had the day free after lunch on Thursdays, so they lounged around down by the lake. It was a clear, breezy day. Harry lay back on the rippling grass, listening to Pansy Parkinson dispense the latest gossip to her girls. He'd been keeping to himself since his and Draco's first fight that morning, too anxious about it to pay attention in class.

Then, as he lay there, he heard the heavy double tread that could only be Crabbe and Goyle, and Draco threw himself down dramatically on the grass beside him.

"I've been thinking, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry tried to act nonchalant, but really he was relieved. It was the first time Draco had spoken to him since their fight.

"I've decided that you're right. Longbottom is far too easy a target. Below me, you might say. I decided that I need to go for someone much more obnoxious, and with more power. Their leader."

"They?"

"The Gryffindors. They think they're so much better than us. I've decided to prove them wrong."

"They have a leader?"

"Of course! Haven't you noticed? He's always the first one to act, the one everyone listens to."

"You mean Weasley?"

"Of course I mean Weasley!"

"You have goes at him already."

"Yes, but that's just because I can't stand the git. Now, it's personal. I officially declare Ronald Weasley my arch-nemesis, enemy-for-life, bane of my existence. Oh woe for the day his father met his mother, for they will learn the meaning of grief!" One of his grand gestures nearly knocked Harry's glasses off as he sat up.

"I don't think that's how it works, Draco. You can't just _declare_ an arch-nemesis."

"Of course I can! You're just jealous because you didn't think of it first."

"I already _have_ one. You know, killed my parents and all that."

"Trying to hoard them all for yourself, are you? Well, if you can have an arch-nemesis, so can I."

"Erm… all right."

"I'll take your look of mild disbelief as complete and utter agreement to all my present and future plans regarding the matter." Harry had created a monster. "I took the liberty of writing up a list of possible torments in Herbology. Number One: get a hold of his pet rat and get Mrs. Norris to eat it. Number Two: bribe his brothers to give us baby pictures. Lots of baby pictures…"

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

The Slytherins, with their free period, arrived at their flying lesson before the Gryffindors. Twenty broomsticks were already set up, and the Slytherins quickly dug through them, picked out the better brooms for themselves, and replaced the ruddier ones in a line for the Gryffindors.

A couple minutes later, the Gryffindors arrived in a large clump. Their teacher, Madam Hooch, followed soon after. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Harry watched the Gryffindors take their places across from the Slytherins and glance down at their brooms.

It was strange… according to Higgs the Slytherin Prefect, all Houses had ten members in each age group: five male and five female (Harry didn't ask how or why; he'd learned to accept the laws of the magical universe without too much fuss). However, here stood the only two groups in the school that broke that rule. Slytherin had six boys and four girls. Gryffindor had four boys and six girls. It really was as if two of them had switched places.

Harry again heard the Sorting Hat saying _"Are you sure?"_ in his ear, and suppressed a shudder.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Draco's refused to come, so the boy simply reached down and picked it up when Madam Hooch wasn't looking. Harry smiled a little as he noticed a number of Gryffindors having trouble. Maybe he wouldn't make a fool of himself after all.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. She paused by Draco and promptly told him he'd been doing it wrong for years. Draco looked mutinous.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

But Longbottom, nervous and jumpy, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Longbottom was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle. Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off his broom and…

WHAM – a thud and a nasty crack and Longbottom lay facedown on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Longbottom, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter. "Come on, boy… it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Longbottom, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot when Draco burst into laughter. "Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Draco made an imitative face, and the rest of the House laughed. Harry sniggered a bit, just because Draco had a talent for finding the comedic in the tragic. But he forced himself to stop and gave his friend a pointed look. The blonde gave him an incomprehensible gesture.

"Shut up, Malfoy," snapped the Gryffindor Patil twin.

"Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?" said pug-nosed Pansy Parkinson. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies Parvati."

"No, no," Draco drawled, strolling forward and snatching something out of the grass. "She has a point."

Everyone stared at Draco in disbelief.

"Why just stand around and make fun of Longbottom when we can be doing something to promote House unity? Say, a game of…" he held Longbottom's Remembrall in Weasley's face "…catch?"

Weasley turned red. "You evil _git_. Give that back!" The red-head made a wild grab at it, but Draco easily snatched his hand away.

Draco turned back to his own House. He smirked at Harry. "What do we say?" Draco tossed the ball to Harry, who caught it on reflex.

Weasley made a growling noise and stepped forward. "Potter, give that here."

Harry looked at the red face of Ronald Weasley. He had been considering doing just that. Then, Weasley had said that in that demanding, self-righteous I-know-you're-bad-because-you're-in-Slytherin voice, and Harry suddenly felt very contrary toward him. He remembered him on the train, throwing around Death Eater accusations. He remembered him in class and the halls, looking like every Slytherin who ever lost points had gotten their just desserts, no matter what they'd done.

And then, Harry realized what Draco was doing. This wasn't about Longbottom. As soon as Longbottom had left with Madam Hooch, it could no longer _be_ about him. No, this was about Weasley, and all the rest of those self-righteous pricks.

"No," he said, and tossed the Remembrall over to Zabini. Zabini juggled it for a moment with his odd little smirk on his face, then sent it at Daphne Greengrass.

At that point, Weasley decided to play the hero (or rather, the monkey in the middle) and went after the Remembrall.

Harry met Draco's eyes. As one, they snatched up their brooms, mounted them, and kicked off the ground.

Harry gripped the broom tightly for a moment, then relaxed as he soared up and up and up. Air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was _wonderful_. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard Draco laughing gaily nearby.

Harry looked over, and saw his friend looping lazily, his grin more free than anything Harry had seen on him before. The blonde hadn't been lying, he _could_ fly well. And so could Harry.

The two turned back toward the ground, where the game of catch was turning chaotic. Draco gave a cry of, "Open up here!" and Zabini tossed the ball up at them, much to the Gryffindors' anger.

Draco and Harry tossed the Remembrall back and forth between them, spreading farther and farther apart as they gained more confidence. Harry nearly forgot about the people below him as the world became just him, Draco, and the Remembrall passing between them. This was so liberating, so _fun_, and he couldn't imagine how he'd ever been happy without a broom before.

Then, Granger cried out "_No_! Madam Hooch told us not to move – you'll get us all in trouble!" and Weasley was suddenly up in the air with them.

This was obviously unacceptable, so the two airborne Slytherins took off in opposite directions, only one of them with the Remembrall. Weasley glanced after both of them, torn, then guessed right and jetted off after Draco. Harry doubled back and chased after him. The red-head was much slower than Harry, so it wasn't long before they were side-by-side. "Knock you off your broom, Weasley?"

"Sod off, Potter!" Weasley purposefully swerved and slammed into Harry. Harry went careening for a couple seconds, then managed to right his broom again. He looked down to see how near he'd come to crashing into the ground, and spotted a familiar set of emerald robes coming out of the school. "Draco!" he shouted. "McGonagall!"

Draco was a hundred meters away, but still heard. The blonde dodged Weasley as the Gryffindor barreled past him. "You want it, Weasley? Go get it!" He threw the glass ball high up in the air and streaked back toward the ground, Harry following only a second later.

Harry landed roughly, throwing his broom to the ground and ducking into the crowd of Slytherins willing to hide him while he got rid of traces of his flight. Draco did the same, frantically smoothing back his wind-blown hair.

They heard McGonagall's shout echo throughout the grounds. "RONALD WEASLEY!"

Harry and Draco exchanged triumphant looks and ducked out from behind the other Slytherins in time to see McGonagall bearing down on Weasley, who'd landed in an unflattering heap. Pieces of the shattered Remembrall were scattered in the grass ten meters away, all colored a deep red as if to say _You forgot to catch me, moron._

"_Never_ – in all my time at Hogwarts –"

Weasley had to be helped to his feet. He'd gone green, but looked like he was just shaken, not injured.

"– how _dare_ you – might have broken your neck –"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor –"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil—"

"Professor, it was—"

"That's _enough_, Mr. Finnigan. Mr. Weasley, follow me, now."

Draco gave Harry a smirk, and the two started laughing. The Gryffindors were glaring murderously at them, but Harry was far too relieved and excited to care. Let them stare – at least it was for a reason other than that bloody _scar_!

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry and Draco stared out at the Gryffindor table.

"I don't understand," Draco said. "Why isn't he _expelled_?"

"He's laughing," Harry said. "He shouldn't be laughing."

"He should be _expelled_!"

"It's McGonagall. I'll bet my owl that McGonagall did something."

"Or _didn't_ do something. Bloody Gryffindors; they're all the same. If anyone else bends the rules it's evil, but if _they_ bend the rules it's for the greater good. Typical Gryffindor mindset."

"Merlin, I hate them."

"It's about time, Potter."

Draco and Harry glared over at the Gryffindor table, where Weasley was getting on with the rest of his House. When his twin brothers came by and gave him hearty pats on the back, the two Slytherins had had enough. They stood and stalked over to the table, hardly noticing as Crabbe and Goyle fell into step behind them.

"Having a last meal, Weasley?" Draco drawled when they got there. "When are you getting on the train back to the poorhouse?"

Weasley's ears didn't even turn red. That was not a good sign. "Probably when your dad decides to live an honest life. Which will be _never_."

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry decided to speak before Draco did something stupid. "How'd you weasel your way out of it, Weasley?"

"It doesn't matter. You gits lost, and that's that. You should get used to the feeling. Now go away before I lose my temper."

They turned to go, but Draco was never one to miss a parting shot. "Weasels shouldn't mess with snakes. They only get eaten in the end."

Draco stalked back to the Slytherin table, Harry right behind him.


	5. The Klutz and the Weasel Extraordinaire

**5: The Klutz and the Weasel Extraordinaire**

"A wizard's duel?"

"That's right, Weasel. To settle this once and for all. Tonight. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter, afraid you can't take me on?"

"I'm not scared of you, Malfoy. You'd be nothing without your three goons."

Crabbe and Goyle began cracking their knuckles, but Harry just smirked. This was Draco's latest (and, really, first) Brilliant-Scheme-to-Get-Weasley-Expelled. It had apparently come to him in a flash of genius the day before, when Weasley had come to dinner despite the flying lesson fiasco. The blonde had been chattering about it all night, and Harry had finally assented to it just so he could go to sleep.

"We'll see about that tonight, Weasel. Potter's my second. Who's yours?"

Weasley's eyes flickered along his table, finding only one other first-year boy present. "Neville."

The named boy gave a squawk and a jerk, sending his breakfast plate all over Lavender Brown.

"Perfect." Draco's glee was obvious. "Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

Then, Draco turned with a dramatic flair of his robes and led them back to the Slytherin table. Longbottom's protests followed behind them.

Several minutes later, the morning mail arrived, and most of Slytherin was sent into gales of laughter at the Howler Weasley got from his mother.

That night, the four first-year Slytherins took one quick detour to talk to a certain caretaker, then lounged around the common room for the rest of the evening, snacking on cakes and pumpkin juice Crabbe and Goyle had pilfered from dinner. As the clock struck midnight, Draco and Harry clinked their goblets together.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"I can _not believe _my_ eyes_."

"They look _cheerful_. Like they spent last night at a _party_."

"Why is he still not _expelled_?"

"Look at Longbottom. He's actually smiling. He looks shaken up, but he's _smiling_. What the devil happened last night?"

The two Slytherins glared over at the Gryffindor table. Weasley didn't even notice. He was too busy chattering excitedly to an uninterested Granger and an uncertain-but-liking-the-attention Longbottom.

Something had happened the night before… but what?

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Then, things got even worse.

It was about a week later, and Draco was on his fourth Brilliant-Scheme-to-Get-Weasley-Expelled (numbers two and three had never even gotten off the ground. The Weasel lived up to his nickname; he could weasel out of anything.)

Over breakfast, the students all looked up as the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual. Everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. To Harry's chagrin, the owls soared down and dropped the parcel right in front of Weasley.

Harry watched as a letter came with it. Weasley read it and immediately gave out an excited whoop. He grabbed Longbottom and swept out of the Great Hall.

Draco and Harry didn't even need to look at each other as they bolted after him.

The four Slytherins caught up to the pair halfway across the Entrance Hall. Crabbe and Goyle moved quickly to bar the stairs, and Draco swooped in to seize the package.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back at Weasley with a mixture of envy and anger on his face. "You'll be in for it his time, Weasel, first years aren't allowed them."

Weasley's ears went red, but he smiled smugly. "It's not just any old broomstick," he said, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What do you have at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as a Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley? I bet this is the first half-decent broom you've ever gotten your hands on. I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Draco's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Weasley's been sent a broomstick, Professor," Draco said quickly.

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Weasley. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Mr. Weasley. And what model is it?"

Draco and Harry exchanged incredulous looks as Weasley beamed. "A Nimbus Two Thousand! I think I'm going to try it out now!"

Weasley and Longbottom walked right past Crabbe and Goyle—who had to move aside because a professor was present—and started up the stairs. Then, about halfway up, Weasley turned to look back down at them with a big grin on his face. "Oh, and… Malfoy, Potter. Thank you very much! Without you two, I never would have gotten it!" The Slytherins could only stare as he grinned and bounded out of sight, Longbottom trailing behind with a tiny, satisfied smile.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"I HATE HIM."

Hurricane Draco stormed through their bedroom, knocking down everything in his path, including an amused Theodore Nott. Harry sat on his bed with Crabbe and Goyle standing on either side of him, all three watching Draco rage.

"No matter what he does, no matter how much he deserves it, HE NEVER GETS IN TROUBLE!"

"To be fair, neither do we," Harry pointed out.

"But that's because we _don't get caught_, Potter! Do you know what would have happened if I'd gotten a broom in the morning mail? I'd be on the train back home right now! SO WHY ISN'T WEASLEY?"

"Flitwick mentioned 'special circumstances,'" Harry said bitterly. "What do you think that means?"

"I don't know, I don't _knoooow_." Draco rubbed his face with both hands. Then, he threw himself onto Harry's bed and started screaming obscenities into his pillow. Harry just patted his friend's back.

Of course Draco was angry – Draco had wanted nothing more than to bring a broom to school. But his parents had refused to allow it, saying that they didn't need the negative attention. Now, his arch-nemesis, enemy-for-life, bane of his existence had gotten _exactly_ what Draco had wanted, no consequences attached. Of course Draco was angry.

Harry was angry, too. He didn't show it as much – histrionics was Draco's thing, whereas Harry was the brooding one.

It wasn't just Weasley that Harry dwelled upon, either. That funny little smile of Longbottom's kept flashing through his head – the one he'd had when Weasley had shouted that last line. It was a smile Harry hated.

Weasley was best known for bearing that smile. It was the one that said "You're a Slytherin, so you deserve to be miserable." Harry had noticed others, of all age groups from all three other Houses, bearing that smile throughout his first couple weeks here. It was always aimed at Slytherins, never anyone else. Weasley seemed the loudest and most self-assured about it, but he wasn't the only one who thought that way.

Not Longbottom, though. Up until that day, Harry had considered Longbottom to be different. An innocent constantly in over his head. But then Weasley and Longbottom had spent a night waiting for a wizard's duel that would never come, and Longbottom was suddenly trailing after Weasley like a puppy following its master.

It wasn't a puzzle, really. Longbottom had obviously been starved for positive attention (Harry knew the feeling), so now that Weasley was giving it to him, he was lapping it up. Did Weasley even know what he now meant to the clumsy boy? Did he know that Longbottom would follow him through fire? Because that was how Harry sometimes felt about Draco, and it was a power that could easily be used badly.

Harry had defended Longbottom once, but he wouldn't do it again, because the clumsy Gryffindor had smiled that smile. Just a small, uncertain one… but it had been that smile even so. Longbottom was as good as lost.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Life at Hogwarts went on as usual for the next month. Draco and Harry spent their free time coming up with Brilliant-Schemes-to-Get-Weasley-Expelled, each of which failed more spectacularly than the one before it. One even backfired when Peeves spotted them trying to find the Gryffindor dormitories. They landed in detention cleaning cauldrons for Professor Snape.

Classes went on, getting more interesting as the students mastered the basics. Snape continued to hate Harry for no reason. Quirrell continued to stutter. Sprout continued to miss it when the Slytherins sabotaged the Ravenclaw Herbology projects.

Draco and Harry spent a disproportionate amount of time tutoring Crabbe and Goyle, respectively. It was inconvenient, but Harry considered it a small price to pay for their steady support. Crabbe wasn't actually that bad, although he tended not to ask questions when things went over his head. Not a curious bone in his body. On the other hand, Goyle was… literate. But just barely. Harry became so frustrated over Charms one night that he actually begged Draco to switch students. Draco just smirked and said, "Why do you think I picked Crabbe in the first place?"

Halloween came along, and Harry was awed and delighted as he entered the Great Hall for the Halloween feast.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Harry dug in immediately, and was just taking a bite out of his baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

He sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Higgs and the other Slytherin prefects gathered up the excited mass of students at their table and started to lead them out of the hall.

As they descended into the dungeons, however, the excitement faded, replaced by anxiety. The seventy students of Slytherin House clung together in a protective clump. Tracey Davis, the meekest of the first year Slytherin girls, began to cry, and Pansy took her hand. Harry could feel Goyle pressing protectively against his right side, and Draco fearfully against his left. With every turn or cross-section in the corridor the students half-expected a monstrous troll to jump out at them.

Then, they heard heavy running steps coming behind them and the entire House froze, the sixth and seventh years drawing their wands with Terence Higgs and Marcus Flint in the lead. But it was only Hagrid, with Professors Flitwick and Vector in his wake. Hagrid gave Harry a relieved wave as he ran past, while the Professors stayed to help escort the Slytherins back to their common room.

They got there safely, but no on slept very well that night.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The next morning, Harry and Draco were bombarded over breakfast with rumors of what had happened the night before. Ron Weasley had wrestled the troll, and won by shoving a wand up its nose. No, it was his twin brothers, and they had stuffed it into a fourth floor toilet. No, it had been _two_ trolls, and _Longbottom_ had caved in a corridor, trapping them.

All ridiculous. But one thing lent credence to them: the Gryffindors had somehow managed to gain five points overnight.

The first-year Slytherins got the real story shortly after breakfast, in Potions. And it was just as unbelievable as any of the rumors.

Harry and Draco led the Slytherins into the classroom to find that Professor Snape hadn't arrived yet, and the Gryffindors were all crowded around Weasley, Longbottom, and… Granger?

Draco drawled, "Oh no, there's a troll in the dungeons again. Oh wait, it's just Weasley. I do tend to get big, stupid, and ugly things mixed up."

The Gryffindors all turned as one to glare at the Slytherins. Weasley's ears turned red and Longbottom's smile faltered.

"Then how do you tell Crabbe and Goyle apart?" Weasley shot back.

Draco hesitated, thinking of a comeback, so Harry took it up instead. "We heard you lot went all heroic last night."

Draco smirked and took that up. "Yeah, what happened with the troll? Did Longbottom throw melted cauldrons at it?"

Longbottom seemed to be trying to sink into his desk, looking mortified.

"Shut up!" Weasley growled. "Neville was brilliant!"

Draco and Harry both laughed at the absurdity of that statement.

"It's true! He's a real hero!" They laughed harder. Weasley's fists clenched, and his face turned the color of his hair. Longbottom, on the other hand, was staring at Weasley in something between shock and awe. "He exploded a sink right in the troll's face and blinded it!" More laughter. "And sure, it might not have been completely on purpose, but I'd like to see you berks do any better!"

Some of the Slytherins were actually rolling on the ground with laughter, Draco among them. Harry had to brace himself against a desk.

"Ronald, stop," Granger muttered. "You're not really helping."

Draco agreed. "He _accidentally_… ahaha…_accidentally_… haaha blinded a troll…. Aha ha ha… through sheer clumsiness!" He howled with laughter.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Longbottom said, and all laughter abruptly stopped. The boy's round face was red with embarrassment, and the narrow-eyed look didn't suit him at _all_, but it was still an act of self-defense, and that sent alarm bells ringing in Harry's head.

"Well look at that," said Harry as the rest of the Slytherins got over their shock. "Longbottom's got a backbone after all."

"You shut up too, Potter," said Longbottom, a slight quaver in his voice. Then, Weasley's hand landed on his shoulder and Granger pressed into his side, and he raised his chin ever so slightly. "All of you… are just terrible. You're mean and awful, and I don't care what you think about me. So just… just leave me alone from now on."

Harry glanced over at Draco, and noted his friend's expression slowly changing from shock to glee. "Oh, you have no idea what you've just done, Longbottom." Draco's gray eyes met Harry's green. Harry nodded grimly. "No idea."

Longbottom didn't get to find out, because at the moment Snape's voice said, "This is a classroom, not a circus. A point from everyone not in a chair by the time I've finished… this… sentence."

Everyone had fled to their seats as soon as the Professor made his presence known, although Crabbe had the inspiration to kick out a certain chair as they passed, sending one clumsy Gryffindor sprawling to the floor just as Snape finished speaking.

"Ah, Mr. Longbottom. Let us hope you filled your weekly quota for magical incompetence last night, shall we? One point from Gryffindor. Take your seat."

The rest of Potions was a tense affair. Snape paired Harry with Longbottom, just because he hated both of them. Harry spent most of the period glaring at a lab partner who didn't look at him. Longbottom, meanwhile, spectacularly failed to hide just how intimidated he was. Inevitably, Longbottom botched their potion (proving once again that sinks weren't the only thing he could make explode), and Professor Snape gleefully docked five points from both of them.

The professor apparently hated Harry more than he loved his own House.

Longbottom fled when class was over, his backbone disappearing from whence it had come, but that did little for Harry's sour mood. He lingered over cleaning up the ruined workspace, waiting for Draco to finish.

Draco kept casting masked glances at Professor Snape, who was sitting at his desk grading papers while the students left. The blonde seemed to be taking his time packing his things, so Harry sidled up next to his friend.

Without preamble, Draco said, "He's limping."

"What?"

The blonde rolled his eyes. "Limping, Potter. That thing one does where one walks—"

"Thank you, Draco. That's really what I meant."

"Merlin, Potter, didn't you notice? He was doing it for the entire class."

"No, I didn't. And I really don't care."

Draco just sneered. "Well, I do." He glanced around and, noticing that everyone but the four Slytherins and Snape had left, swept up to the desk.

"Everything all right, Uncle Sev?"

'_Uncle Sev'_? Harry mouthed.

"You would do well to remember where we are, Mr. Malfoy."

"I'm just concerned, sir. You were limping during class, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was Longbottom's fault. I keep saying the boy is a menace, but no one seems to listen—"

Snape glanced up at his favorite student and interrupted with, "You're rambling, Mr. Malfoy." Then, he glanced over at Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle. "Don't you have somewhere to be, Potter?"

Harry hesitated until Draco made a shooing motion. "I'll catch up," Draco said. Harry nodded and left the room, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"He's my godfather."

Harry sat back deeper into the high-backed chair by the common room fire. "That explains a lot."

Draco smirked. "It's good to have connections. You should try making one sometime."

"Hey, I have connections."

"Oh really? Name one other than me, Crabbe, or Goyle."

"Erm… Hagrid."

Draco gave an inelegant snort. "Sure, if you want to get in with the creatures of the Forbidden Forest."

"Well… Professor Quirrell seems to give me a bit more attention than his other students."

"Oh, P-p-professor Q-quirrell. You s-showed me, P-p-p-potter!"

Harry laughed, even as he gave a defensive, "Hey!"

"Face it, Potter – You're a bit of a loner. If I hadn't opened my heart and befriended you, you'd be all alone in the world, brooding in some corner like Theodore Nott."

Harry smirked at the image. "Yeah, probably."

"Ah, so you admit it! You now owe me forever, and must become my personal slave and do whatever I wish of you!"

Harry laughed again. "Not bloody likely."

They were interrupted by a small explosion and a round of cheers from a circle of older students on the other side of the common room. From what Harry could make out, their game was some sort of combination of strip poker, a drinking game (with smuggled firewhisky), and Exploding Snap. Friday nights in the Slytherin common room were always a bit wild.

Harry said, "So what did Snape say after I left?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Potter, and like you care," Draco said with a roll of his eyes.

"I don't. But you're going to tell me anyway, so you might as well do it now, while I'm feeling generous."

Draco smirked. "Fair enough." They paused as another explosion and round of cheers sounded. A lacey black bra was tossed out of the circle and landed nearby. "He told me it was none of my business."

Harry laughed. "You really know how to work your connections, I see!"

"Oh, like you could have done better, Potter." He paused, then lowered his voice. "I listed off a bunch of ways he might have hurt himself. When I mentioned the third floor off-limits area, he went quiet, then gave me a sharp look and said, 'Mr. Malfoy, it is not your place to pry. Leave it be,' and wouldn't answer any more of my questions."

Harry fought down a shiver. Draco's Snape impression was as uncanny as the rest of them. "So that's how, then."

"As far as I can tell."

They sat quietly for a moment. Another round of noise rose from the rest of the room, this time punctuated by a girlish squeal. Then, Harry said, "What do you suppose Snape was doing on the _third floor_ when there was a troll in the _dungeons_? What's up there?"

"_Professor_ Snape. And I'm sure I have no clue."

"Want to find out?"

"Why Potter, I'm shocked. To pull off something like that, we would have to be the nosiest, sneakiest, most disrespectful rule-breakers in the school."

"No, I think the Weasley twins would still carry that title."

"Oh, well, that's all right then. Incidentally, I think I know the perfect time to do it."


	6. Quidditch

**6: Quidditch**

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost.

The Quidditch season had begun. The first match of the year would be Slytherin versus Gryffindor – and Harry had no intention of attending.

He wanted to – very badly. However, it was the only time Draco could think of when they had most of the castle to themselves. They could investigate the third floor to their hearts' content.

And so Draco, Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle watched and waited as eleven o'clock approached, and students slowly filtered out of the school toward the Quidditch pitch. They hovered in an empty classroom until they were sure that everyone had left. Then, they headed up the stairs, toward the third-floor corridor on the right side.

By the time they reached the locked door that led to it, they could hear the first cheers coming from the pitch, along with the echoes of an amplified voice. It made the castle seem that much more deserted.

Draco smirked and pulled out his wand. "_Alohomora_." Only Draco Malfoy could manage to drawl a spell.

The door's latch clicked open, and the four boys crept inside, closing the door behind them. They emerged into a corridor, looking around. Crabbe saw it first and made a sort of grunting squeak.

Asleep on the floor was a monstrous dog. It had three heads, and it was enormous.

"What is that thing?" Draco whispered, creeping closer.

"Don't get too close, Draco. It looks dangerous."

"I'm not scared." Draco turned around to glare at Harry, his back now to the beast. Harry watched in terror as one of its ears twitched, and one set of eyes opened. "And you shouldn't be either, Potter. We're Slytherins – we can easily outwit a big dumb animal like this."

The dog's first head rose as a second set of eyes opened.

"Draco!" Harry hissed, too scared to do more.

"If Longbottom can handle a _troll_, I think we can handle a _dog_, even if it is really big."

The third set of eyes opened, and all three noses turned toward Draco. The pale boy's eyes widened in realization as the dog took a big, loud whiff.

That broke the stillness. Belatedly, Goyle shrieked, "IT'S WAKING UP!" while Crabbe and Harry jumped forward and dragged Draco away just in time to avoid a leisurely snap from one of the heads. Crabbe shoved Draco back toward the door as Harry pulled his wand and covered their retreat, only to realize that he had no idea what to cast.

The beast gave a low, rumbling growl, over which he could just hear Draco shriek "HARRY, RUN!" Before he knew it, Goyle was giving Harry the same treatment Crabbe had given Draco, and all four boys tumbled back through the door to safety. Crabbe slammed and locked it behind them.

Harry laid on the ground in a heap with Draco and Goyle, catching his breath. He could still hear the three-headed dog on the other side of the door, growling and slamming about in irritation. Once he could stop shaking, he sat up.

Draco gave a wheezy laugh and sat up a second later. "Well that answers that question."

They both looked up and Draco's smile faded. Crabbe was looking down at them with a hard expression, his arms crossed over his chest in a very forbidding manner. Harry and Draco stared up at him in shock.

"Greg and me put up with a lot of things," Crabbe said, his voice low and slow. "But that was the _stupidest_ idea you guys've ever had, an' if you ever drag us into something like that again, I'm just turning round and not looking back, all right?"

Draco and Harry exchanged astonished looks, then nodded up at him. "Sorry Crabbe," Draco said. "And… thanks. How about we smuggle you some double desserts tonight? I think you two more than deserve it."

A low, silky voice said, "Oh, I don't know that you'll be in any position to be smuggling _any_ desserts tonight." All four boys turned in horror and saw Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris standing on the opposite end of the hallway. The caretaker looked like he'd found a particularly delicious sweet. "I don't know that you'll be in any position for a _long time_."

In unison, all four of them gulped.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

There was one bit of silver lining on the giant, black cloud, and that was that Harry got to see the end of the Quidditch match. Of course, it was while he was being dragged by his ear up to the staff bleachers, but he caught some glimpses nonetheless.

He recognized most of the Slytherin team, including Terence Higgs as the Seeker. He didn't recognize the boy playing opposite Higgs. However, he did recognize the Weasley twins, each gleefully swinging their bats to cause as much destruction as possible.

He also recognized the figure guarding the Gryffindor goalposts, and it caused him to miss a step and stumble.

"Keep up, Potter," Mr. Filch growled. "You won't be gettin' out o' this that easy."

"He's Keeper!" Harry blurted to Draco as Filch dragged them on.

"Who?"

"The Weasel!"

Draco's eyes widened, and then his face went pale with rage. "I hate him. So. Much."

While they walked, they heard the commentator's words loud and clear. "Bell with the Quaffle – ducks a Bludger – oooh, but not the other one. Pucey nabs it – come on, Fred, knock him off his broom! Sorry, Professor. And Pucey speeds toward the goalposts, block it Ron! Ah, so close, but Slytherins score."

They spilled out into the staff bleachers, causing several of the professors as well as the commentator to glance back at them. Snape looked ready to kill.

Most of the professors turned back to the game as Filch dragged the boys up to Snape, and Harry did his best to look innocently interested in Quidditch. It _was_ fascinating to watch, but he couldn't really concentrate on it.

"What have we here, Argus?" Dumbledore asked mildly, a twinkle in his eye.

"Caught these four sneaking 'round near the off-limits area. Looked mighty out of breath to be just taking a stroll, if you ask me."

Snape was making a low growling noise in the back of his throat. It was somehow even more frightening than that of the giant three-headed dog.

"Oh, no, Harry!" Hagrid groaned nearby. "Say yeh di'n't!"

"Yes, Potter," Snape growled. "Say you did not explicitly disobey the school rules—and me—by going wandering in an _off limits_ corridor like a stupid, arrogant brat."

"Erm…"

"Now now, Severus," said Dumbledore, "I'm sure this is all just a misunderstanding. What do you all say we finish watching this wonderful game, and we can clear this small matter up afterward?"

Filch and Snape wore matching expressions of discontent, but they obediently left it at that. Filch deposited the boys in the seat beside Snape, forcing Quirrell to find a different spot. Then, the caretaker left and headed back to the castle.

"Flint with the Quaffle – and now Flint with two Bludgers in the face! Nice aim, guys! Johnson's got the Quaffle – passes to Spinnet. They're flying circles around Bletchley! Bletchley dives – misses – GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Harry was quiet, definitely not able to enjoy the game as much as he hoped he might. He didn't want it to end, true, but that was just because he feared Snape would murder him once it was over.

"Flint in possession – he takes it right up the middle – dodges a Bludger for once in his life – and Angelina snatches it right out of his hands! Ooh, so that's where Beater Bole went. Flint once again with the Quaffle – Keeper Weasley's coming up to meet him… with so many Weasleys on the team, it's getting hard to tell them apart. Right, Professor. Flint dodges Chaser Spinnet – shoots – and it's deflected! That's using your head, Ron!"

Ronald Weasley grinned as cheers erupted from the stands. He flew back to the goalposts, rubbing his forehead where the Quaffle had bounced off it.

As the cheers died down and the game resumed, Draco asked Snape, "I don't understand, Professor. _Why_ is Weasley out there?"

"You are referring, of course, to the youngest one?" Snape's voice was flat and displeased, but it was Draco, so how could he not respond?

"He's a first year. He's not allowed to even _have_ a broom."

"In most cases, that is correct. However, Mr. Malfoy, thanks to the antics of Mr. Potter and yourself, a certain colleague of mine saw young Weasley pull off an impressive feat of broomwork and thus thought it beneficial to bend the rules."

"'Impressive feat?'" Harry protested. "He didn't even catch it!"

Snape snapped a glare down at him. "That, Mr. Potter, would have been a feat bordering on the impossible, which I daresay even your show-off father couldn't have pulled off."

"…my father…?"

"No, what Weasley did was use his body to deflect the object from shattering all over his Housemates, crash, and then come out of it all virtually unharmed. I'm told it was a spectacular display of Gryffindor daring and proof of Ronald Weasley's particular hardiness, and we all have you two to thank for bringing it to light."

Harry stared at Snape in disbelief, his mind still churning around the mention of his father.

Draco wasn't done. "But wait, I thought they were looking for a Seeker this year, not a Keeper!"

"Ah, but that is the skill that you and Potter have enabled in Ronald Weasley," Snape said, eyes narrowed up at the offending red-head. "Oliver Wood, Team Captain and Keeper, thought the young Weasley so promising that he spent weeks teaching Weasley all his tricks, then stepped up to play Seeker himself!"

Snape's voice rose just a bit too loudly at the end – the commentator turned around and flashed them a grin and a wink. "It's only fitting," the boy said. "Whether it's as Captain or Seeker, Wood's the only one who's ever been able to hold his own in the shadow of Charlie Weasley. He could have played for England, if he hadn't gone off to study dragons in Romania!"

"Mr. Jordan!" Professor McGonagall chided, and the commentator turned back to the game. McGonagall then gave Snape a little smirk over her shoulder, just to show that she could hear every word they were saying. Snape glowered.

"And Alicia has the Quaffle – she speeds past the Slytherin Chasers – and it's THE SEEKERS ARE DIVING!"

Indeed, they were. Harry watched Terence Higgs and Oliver Wood burst into motion at the same time and streak across the pitch. Higgs was a bit smaller and faster, built more like a Seeker, so he pulled ahead by inches.

"Come on, COME ON! Higgs pulls ahead, but Wood's trying to force him to the side. Where is it? THEY PULL UP! WHO GOT IT? Awww, and Slytherin gets the Snitch!"

Higgs held the golden ball triumphantly and did a lap around the pitch.

"Don't worry, Oliver, this is the last time you'll have to see Higgs' creepy face before he graduates. Good riddance, you slimy ber—"

"LEE JORDAN, THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH." McGonagall snatched the microphone away, and the commentator looked sheepishly up at her.

Harry felt something jostle his shoulder, and looked up to see Snape's black gaze. He followed the Professor to his doom.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

An hour later, Draco, Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from Dumbledore's office, down only five points each. It would have been a lot worse, but for two factors. First, Draco was able to devise a plausible lie about accidentally letting Millicent Bulstrode's cat out, complete with a dramatic chase scene and sound effects. Second, Snape did, with regards to House points, want to see Slytherin succeed, and docking more than twenty points was not the way to do that.

However, Snape did drag them back to his office, lecture them on "not acting like idiot Gryffindors," and give them all detentions helping set up Christmas decorations.

That night, Harry and Draco lingered in their bedroom. Crabbe and Goyle were currently at the victory party, but neither Draco nor Harry felt much like celebrating.

"I should write a song."

"He knew my father? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Weasley Can't Keep for Beans! No…"

"Is it some sort of secret? Or does he really hate me that much?"

"The Bumbling Weasel? No…"

"He called him a 'show-off'? What does that mean?"

"Oh, and badges! I'll have to make matching badges!"

"Did he play Quidditch? Is that what he meant?"

"If I do it right, I'm sure I could make him choke. His face had 'stage fright' written all over it!"

"Why hasn't anyone ever told me he played Quidditch?"

"FOR SALAZAR'S SAKE, YOU'RE BOTH MORONS."

They both jumped, surprised to see Nott curled up on his bed, glaring at them over his book.

"How long have you been here?" Draco demanded.

"I was here when you two stormed in. Don't you even notice when other people are in the room? Merlin!" Nott stood up and tossed his book on the bed. "Potter, yes, your father played Quidditch. He was a Chaser. There's a trophy for it and everything. And if he was even a fraction of the self-centered twit you are, then my guess is that Snape didn't like him, and that's why he never bothered to tell you.

"And Malfoy, you can make a song, badges, and a bloody monument to Weasley stupidity out of the corpses of his relatives, but in the end _it won't bloody matter_. Quidditch runs in his family, and so it's a good guess he'll overcome anything you throw at him and become the best damn Keeper in a century. He's already the youngest.

"Now shut up and let me read, because I swear that if you both don't get over yourselves _right now_, I'm going to lop off your heads, put them in a bag, and give them to Madam Hooch as spare Quaffles." He grabbed his book, sat down, and pointedly stuck his nose in it.

Draco looked taken aback. Then, he said, "A monument to Weasley stupidity! Why didn't I think of that?"

Nott growled.


	7. Christmas with the Weasleys

**7: Christmas with the Weasleys**

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, Hogwarts woke to find itself covered in several feet of snow. The lake froze solid and the Weasley twins were punished for bewitching several snowballs so that they followed Quirrell around, bouncing off the back of his turban. The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver mail had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly off again. Draco was not doing well without his regular deliveries of sweets from home.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. The fire in the Slytherin Common Room was lit year-round to stave off the cold, but now it was working overtime, so that the Common Room was actually uncomfortably warm. This was a welcome change, given the castle's drafty corridors and classrooms.

The Friday morning before the holidays, Draco, Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle were excused from Potions in order to serve their detentions (Snape had said that Draco was far enough ahead to afford the lost time, and that the other three were lost causes anyway). They joined several staff members in the Great Hall, with Harry and Draco hanging decorations, and Crabbe and Goyle helping Hagrid carry in the twelve towering Christmas trees.

"I can't wait to get home for the holidays," Draco chattered as they worked. "The manor is so much more comfortable than here, and I miss having House Elves that you can actually order around. _Wingardium Leviosa_." A festoon of holly floated up to a waiting hook high on the wall.

"I'm glad I'm staying here. _Wingardium Leviosa_." The next festoon in line floated upwards. "I much prefer here to going back to the Dursleys."

"You poor deprived thing. _Wingardium Leviosa_. One day, I will introduce you to true luxury, and you will never again be satisfied with the merely adequate."

"And that's why you're spoiled, and I'm not."

"I'm not spoiled. I merely have a refined sense of taste, which you lack."

"Right. Spoiled. That's what I said."

"It's your turn, oh tasteless one."

Harry grinned. They continued like that for a while. Then, Hagrid plopped the last of the Christmas trees in the corner, and the two boys moved to start helping to decorate it.

"So, Hagrid," Harry said, "is Fluffy staying over the holidays?" Hagrid had let the name slip when Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle had visited for tea some time ago. He'd also warned Harry not to go near "Fluffy" again, but Harry was much too amused by the name to pay the warning any mind.

"Now, Harry, you know better'n to ask me that sort a' thing."

"No he doesn't," Draco sang, "because Potter's an idiot!" He seemed to be putting extra candles on the trees.

Harry laughed, then lowered his voice. "It's just that, I think I know what's down there. It's whatever you took from Vault Seven Hundred Thirteen, isn't it? What is it?"

Hagrid glanced nervously at Draco, but the blonde was absorbed in the Christmas decorations. "I ain't sayin' anything! Now you listen to me, Harry – yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel –"

Harry's lips curled into a sly grin.

Hagrid looked furious with himself. "I – er – I better go. Owls ter look after yet. Take care o' yerself, Harry." He slinked off, as much as a man his size could slink.

Harry turned, feeling pleased with himself, only to nearly run into a mass of frizzy Gryffindor hair. "Watch it, Granger." She stared after him as he rejoined Draco, with an incomprehensible expression on her face.

Harry came up beside Draco and started to help, only to have his hand slapped away by the blonde. With a shrug, Harry moved along the trees. Longbottom (because where you found one of the Gryffindor Trio, you found them all) tripped over his own feet and fell head-first into one as Harry passed under it. Tiny icicles rained down on top of the buffoon, but then the glass candle on top tipped over and fell. Harry leapt to catch it, snatching it easily out of the air.

"Nice catch, Potter!" Harry turned and saw Terence Higgs sitting at the Slytherin table among his yearmates. His normally blank face slowly stretched into a knowing smile. "You ever played Quidditch?"

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry wasn't sure which was the highlight of his day: having Terence Higgs name him his successor on the Quidditch team, or having the Christmas trees at dinner suddenly start blinking the phrase "Use Your Head, Weasley" in multi-colored lights. Draco had spent most of the meal split between laughing, praising his own genius, and doing dramatic imitations of Weasley getting hit in the head with a Quaffle. Harry spent the entire evening giddy with laughter and excitement. It was the perfect start to the holidays.

They didn't stay that nice, unfortunately. The entire Weasley clan stayed at Hogwarts as well. Harry had Slytherin house almost entirely to himself, except for one quiet fourth year girl who only left her room for meals. Harry amused himself by visiting Hagrid, mapping out the castle, and _occasionally _visiting the library.

He'd briefly looked for the name Nicolas Flamel, but gave up as his curiosity flagged. He'd never had much stamina for research, and it really didn't concern him. It wasn't as if someone were trying get past that gigantic dog. And even if they were, Harry was a Slytherin – he wasn't going to swoop down and stop them.

On Christmas day, Harry woke up to find a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed. Pleasantly surprised, he picked up the top parcel. It was wrapped in thick brown paper and scrawled across it was "To Harry, from Hagrid." Inside was a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself. Harry blew it – it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contained a note.

_We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia_. Taped to the note was a fifty-pence piece.

"Better than an old sock, I guess," Harry said to himself, rolling his eyes.

Crabbe had gotten him a matching knit hat and mittens, in Slytherin colors and embroidered with snakes. Harry smiled. He hadn't told anyone that his old hand-me-downs were too thin. Sometimes, he was surprised at how perceptive Crabbe could be.

Goyle stuck with what he knew, sending an assortment of cakes, cookies, and Swiss chocolates. They all came on a gold platter that Harry suspected was pilfered from Hogwarts in the first place, and that made him laugh.

Then, he got to the last gift. It was large and long in a shape that made Harry's eyes widen, wrapped in shining green paper. It had two notes attached. The first was written in Draco's lazy scrawl:

_I told you I'd smuggle one in somehow._

Harry could barely contain his excitement. Then, he turned to the second note. The handwriting was neat and elegant.

_Mr. Potter:_

_My son speaks very highly of you. I pray you will put this gift to good use, both for yourself and for the glory of your House. If you disappoint my son, in this or otherwise, I'm afraid I would be most displeased._

_-Lucius Malfoy_

Draco's father, Harry decided, was a rather frightening man.

Harry soon forgot the note, however, as he tore into the wrapping. Sure enough, the paper fell away and revealed a shiny new Nimbus Two Thousand, custom made with a silver "HP" glinting in elegant script on either side.

He spent the rest of the day putting his new hat and mittens to good use, as zipping around the Hogwarts grounds on a professional-quality broom in December was fairly cold.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Harry spent several days enjoying his new broomstick out of sight of the Hogwarts staff. As the holiday drew on, however, he found himself sinking into depression. He missed his friends. He'd never been so completely alone – even the Dursleys would have given him an occasional nasty look every now and then. Never before had he been so aware of just how alone he was, and how much that frightened him.

Naturally, the Weasley twins picked up on his steadily souring mood and commenced doing what they did best: making things a whole lot worse.

They bewitched several of the holiday decorations in the Great Hall to fall on him in intervals, and whether he caught them, dodged, or was hit dead on, the twins always chorused, "Nice catch Potter!" in an imitation of Terence Higgs that Draco would have found weak and colorless.

They persuaded the portraits to start shouting random criticisms at him, so that for two days, wherever he walked inside the castle he was followed by choruses of "Brush your hair, Potter!" "Your glasses are crooked!" and, from a peculiar little man in armor, "Your outfit would look better with more dragon's blood on it!"

Then, they convinced Peeves that it would be funny to see how many times he could pass through Harry's body in an hour. Harry was sneezing by the time he found the Bloody Baron and chased him off.

Near the end of the holiday, Harry did get one over on them, though. One night, he visited Snape's office, then snuck into the Great Hall after hours. There, he _Wingardium Leviosa_'d an entire cauldron of flobberworm mucus into the rafters, hiding it among the holly and mistletoe.

The next morning, Harry waited for the Weasleys to come down to breakfast (and they always did, in a clump). The Great Hall was relatively empty, with only a smattering of students. The only professors present were Snape and Quirrell.

All it took was one more whispered spell, and the cauldron tipped its contents onto the entire Weasley clan, scattering the disgusting ingredient all over their breakfast and sending Percy Weasley into sputtering fits. The Weasley twins took it in stride, laughing at their younger brother's shell-shocked expression and rubbing globs of mucus in one another's faces. That took some of the satisfaction out of it, but it was still worth it to see the Weasley twins on the receiving end for a change.

The other scattered students laughed at the mess, and Professor Quirrell blinked in bewilderment, having been pulled out of his conversation with the Slytherin fourth year girl.

Harry's eyes inevitably wandered to the High Table and locked with those of the only other staff member in the room. Slowly, the Head of his House nodded and gave a small smirk.

After all, Harry had had to get the flobberworm mucus from somewhere. It seemed that Snape hated the Weasley twins even more than Harry did. Planning this prank had almost been a bonding experience.

Then, SPLAT – someone lobbed a gob of mucus at Harry's head and Snape's smirk widened.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The day before everyone was due to arrive back from holiday, Harry woke up to a foul scent in the air. It smelled like a pair of old socks and a very dirty public toilet had had a child. Who never bathed.

He wrinkled his nose and reached for the nightstand for his glasses. Still rubbing sleep out his eyes, he went to check if there was something wrong with the dormitory toilets. He never got that far, though, as the sound of heavy shuffling and low grunting stopped him right outside his dormitory door. There was a troll in the common room.

There was a TROLL in the COMMON ROOM.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray under the green Slytherin lamps. Its great lumpy body looked like a boulder with a small bald coconut of a head on top. It was holding a huge wooden club, and didn't seem to know what to do with it in the cramped space.

Harry ran back into his dorm room and slammed the door shut, thinking _I'm going to die I'm going to die I'm going to die._ At the sound, the troll stopped moving, then rumbled closer. Harry could hear the monster grunting right outside his dorm door, and backed against the farthest wall, hardly daring to breathe.

He dove for cover as the door was smashed in, and the troll poked its head in. It was too large to fit in the doorway, but that didn't stop it from trying. Harry curled up behind a bed, for once wishing he was a bravely suicidal Gryffindor instead of a sane, cautious Slytherin. A suicidal move was the only way he could think to survive this.

At that moment, cowering on the floor of his dorm room, listening to a troll slowly forcing his way inside, Harry heard the Sorting Hat whisper, _"Are you sure?"_ in his memory. He could have been brave and heroic, but he'd instead opted to make true friends, a lot of good that did him now.

Then again, the Sorting Hat had also said he'd had a will to prove himself. If there was any time to do that, it was now.

Harry looked frantically around the room, his gaze alighting on sweets, knickknacks, and lots of green sheets. Then, he spotted a tiny wooden needle on one nightstand, which Zabini had saved all this time for some reason. It was too small to do the huge creature any damage, of course.

So obviously, he needed a bigger one.

His eyes fell on his broom. His wonderful, beloved, very expensive broom. Draco was going to kill him, but that was later. The troll was now.

Remembering that first Transfiguration lesson and all the ones after it, Harry closed his eyes and cast the spell, doing his best not to listen to the bangs and grunts from the doorway.

When he opened his eyes again, the spell had not taken perfectly, but that was to be expected given the situation. It still had bristles, although there was now a needle's eye in them, and it sported a new metallic glint. More important, however, its front end was _pointed_.

The doorframe finally caved and the troll stumbled a step into the room under a rain of bricks, still blocking the exit. It didn't matter because Harry was in motion. He grabbed his broom and leapt onto it. Working on instinct, he leapt and flew it straight at the monster. The broom swerved dangerously, unsuited for its new composition, but it was still wicked fast, and when it hit the troll's thigh point-first, it drove nearly half a meter in.

Harry was thrown off the broom and tumbled to the corridor floor as the troll bellowed. It began flailing in pain, and Harry used its distraction to run for his life.

He tore through the disordered common room and out the door, running as fast as he could for the safety of the Great Hall. There would be a professor in the Great Hall; there _had _to be!

Then, he heard the heavy tread behind him and realized that perhaps _hurting_ the troll hadn't been the most cunning plan after all. He was caught from behind by its massive club, and flew into a nearby suit of armor. He thought he felt a couple ribs crack, but he really didn't have time to think about that as the club came down at him a second time. He ducked behind the suit of armor, so that the metal suit caved under the hit. Then, Hary fled again. He let go of his pride and started shrieking at the top of his lungs.

The club caught him again, and this time he was thrown down a flight of stairs, bouncing off the banister and landing flat on his back, his breath knocked out of him. The troll limped down to him and batted him against a wall while he tried to pick himself up. His head was ringing, and he could see blood on the wall where his head had bounced.

The troll lumbered to stand over him and roared. It raised its club above its head. Harry curled up in a defensive ball, hurting too much to try to escape the killing blow.

Then, someone shouted a spell, and the troll abruptly froze mid-swing. A moment later, ropes appeared from the air and began tying up the petrified troll.

"Potter!" No less than four Hogwarts Professors pocketed their wands and ran to Harry's side. A handful of students—including four red-heads—could be seen peeking down the staircase at the scene.

McGonagall got to him first, and put a hand on his back as she knelt down beside him. "Potter, are you all right?"

"I would think the answer to that question would be obvious," Snape sneered, bending over his other side. "This isn't all troll blood."

"Merlin… Filius, go get Madam Pomfrey!" Professor Flitwick gave an anxious nod and scurried away, shooing the gawking students as he went. "You'll be fine, Potter. Just don't move."

"In all this excitement, one must wonder how trolls keep wandering into the dungeons," Snape said pointedly, glaring at the fourth teacher.

Quirrell looked pale and shocked, staring back and forth from the troll to Harry. He stuttered a few incomprehensible phrases as he finished tying up the troll, then changed the subject with, "My my… there s-seems t-t-to be s-something trapped in its l-leg."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "What is that? It looks like a—" she stopped, then turned a sharp eye down at Harry. "Potter, you will have some explaining to do later. For now… I must say I think Slytherin deserves five points for sheer creativity."

Harry gave a wheezy laugh.

"She said _not to move_, Potter," Snape said.

Harry turned an eye blearily up at his Head of House – his head hurt, and Merlin only knew where his glasses had gone. So he could have been wrong when he thought he saw something like concern flicker through Snape's eyes.

Even so, he mustered his best smirk. "Professor…" he said. "There's a troll in the dungeons. Thought you should know." Then, he fainted.

SSSSSSSSSSSSS

"YOU DID _WHAT _TO YOUR BROOM?"

"Hello, Draco."

The blonde stormed into the Infirmary, pale face twisted in a cold rage. "You TRANSFIGURED it? And then RAN it into a TROLL? And then let MCGONAGALL take it? I DON'T KNOW WHICH REASON TO KILL YOU FOR FIRST!"

"She said she'd probably give it back eventually."

"NOT THE POINT, POTTER."

Harry smirked and relaxed into his pillow, utterly unshaken by his friend's fury. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle, who lingered back out of Hurricane Draco's path. "So how were your holidays?"

"DON'T IGNORE ME WHEN I'M TELLING YOU OFF!"

"All right," said Crabbe quietly. "Family stayed over some."

"How about you, Gregory?"

"POTTER!"

Goyle scowled. "My mum and dad had a fight right over the Christmas roast."

Crabbe bumped his friend's shoulder gently. "Maybe next year." Goyle's expression softened.

Harry watched their interaction, curious. He didn't often get insight into the world of Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Usually, they just seemed like silent sentinels—gargoyles that followed him around. It just seemed to slip his mind that they were people too. It was no relief that Draco seemed to forget that as well.

Thinking of the blonde made him realize that the Infirmary had fallen strangely quiet. At some point, Draco had run out of steam and dropped onto an empty bed to pout.

"So how about you, Draco?'

"Oh, _now_ you pay attention to me."

"Not screaming usually makes it easier to get along with people."

"I can't help it if I'm a very passionate person. And my holidays were fine, but not nearly as interesting as yours, it seems." He glared at Harry, as if resentful that he'd gotten attacked by a troll.

"Yeah, how did you hear about that anyway?"

"Right," Draco sneered, "because it's not as if _everyone _was talking about it as soon as we got off the train or anything. And the Weasley twins certainly weren't describing in _graphic_ detail the way you'd apparently been thrown around like a naughty House Elf, and the Weasel _certainly_ wasn't positively gloating about how you were laid up in the Infirmary for it, the righteous git."

Harry picked out an underlying tone in the cold drawl, and smirked. "You were worried about me."

"I—I most certainly was not! I am a very independent person; I rely on no one!"

All three of his companions sniggered.

"What? What's so funny? You had better not be laughing at me!"

"Or what?" Harry laughed, "You'll independently sic your father on us?"

Draco sputtered, his face turning red. The other three laughed harder.

When they calmed down, and Draco's face faded back to its normal shade of "pale," Harry was able to recount his story, describing how he'd woken up to find the troll in the Slytherin common room, how he'd been forced to improvise to escape, and how he'd been chased down the hall and had to be rescued by some professors.

"And you actually thought that injuring it would be a good idea, Potter?" Draco drawled.

Harry felt his face go hot. "Well, it was better than accidentally blowing up a sink."

The other three laughed, and Harry relaxed.

Then, Goyle said dully, "I wonder how it got in."

Draco and Harry exchanged wide-eyed looks. Draco said, "How _did _it get in?"

"Someone let it in, I guess."

The blonde rolled his eyes. "Yes, but who? I know this is hard to grasp for you three, but people don't just let trolls into children's dormitories for no reason."

Harry suddenly felt very cold. "You mean you think someone was trying to hurt me?"

"More than hurt, maybe. Halloween was a fluke; no one expects a first year to survive a troll attack."

"But—but who could have let it in? No one knows where Slytherin is!"

Draco threw up his hands. "That's why I asked the question, Potter! Try to keep up."

"Actually, Gregory asked the—"

"Who was here over break?" Draco interrupted smoothly.

"The only other Slytherin was that really quiet fourth year girl."

"Right, Ellington."

"Erm… right. There was also the staff, of course. And the Weasleys…"

Draco's and Harry's eyes both widened.

"He _wouldn't_," Harry hissed.

"No… no, it couldn't be him. He doesn't know where the Slytherin dormitories are."

Harry felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "But I bet his brothers do. They know this castle better than anyone. And they've been picking on me all break. Siccing a troll on me is only a step up for them."

Draco got up, looking ready to storm out and confront the Weasleys himself. Then, he sat down again, looking perplexed. "But even _they _can't know the password."

"But that leaves out everyone but Ellington, and I can't imagine _her_ wrestling a troll in here."

"Not necessarily." Draco tented his fingers, thinking. "There's always the staff."

"The _staff_!" Harry remembered Filch dragging them back to their dormitories, and Flitwick and Vector escorting the House through the dungeons on Halloween. They certainly all knew where Slytherin was. "But… how many know the password?"

"Just Professor Snape and Dumbledore, I think… and don't you even think about it, Potter. He would never."

"He doesn't seem to like me very much."

Draco gave him an icy glare. "And by what logic does that mean he wants you dead? Don't act like everything's black and white, Potter. That's what Gryffindors do."

Harry stared down at his sheets, feeling queasy.

"Besides," Draco drawled, "if Severus really wanted you dead, he'd just have to partner you up with Longbottom in Potions more often. That would be bound to kill you eventually."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, and the queasy feeling faded. Harry smiled gratefully at Draco, who regarded him with a mask of cool unconcern. "Well, that doesn't answer the question of who set the troll on me, then."

"No, it doesn't, but that's not really the point, is it?"

"What do you mean?"

Draco gave him an incredulous look. "Potter, someone just tried to _kill_ you. You're not going to just sit by and let it happen again, are you?"

"No, of course not."

"Right. So, obviously, we need to find out who did it." He grinned gleefully. "And then, we make them regret ever threatening a Slytherin."


	8. Death Eaters

**8: Death Eaters**

From that point on, Harry was treated with a sort of quiet approval from his House. There were no cheering or open pats on the back, as there might have been in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, but there was a general sense of pride in him, and that was much better. He hadn't realized how much Slytherin had kept him at a wary distance until they'd stopped doing so.

In the days after the troll attack, he was greeted with comments like, "Bloody resourceful of you; good work," and "Kicked the ass of the Gryffindors' troll story," and "Clever, smuggling in a broom as a Christmas gift." (At that last comment, Draco cheerily piped, "That one was my idea!") Quidditch Captain Marcus Flint even asked him once whether flying around with pointed brooms would be feasible, to which Harry just said it probably wouldn't be allowed, even if it was.

He was asked to repeat the story over and over again. Draco designated himself Harry's official storyteller, emphasizing Harry's cunning more with each telling. By the tenth retelling, Harry had set a clever trap for the troll involving a sheet and a bit of twine. The first-year girls started following Harry around about then, Parkinson with that starry-eyed expression she usually reserved for Draco. Harry found the attention disconcerting, which amused the blonde to no end.

Even Blaise Zabini seemed to warm up to Harry—the darker boy had never been anything but snidely cool to him before. Zabini had gotten an elaborate Wizard's Chess set for Christmas (the pieces carved to match some ancient battle Harry knew nothing about), and challenged Harry to rounds of it on slow nights. Harry was originally appalled by the viciousness of some of the pieces, which put a highly amused smile on Zabini's face. "They're just pieces, Potter," he said. "They're _meant_ to get knocked around. It's how you know you're winning."

In the end, Harry was terrible at Wizard's Chess. The only time he could ever beat Zabini was when Draco fed him moves from behind their roommate's back.

Classes resumed, as did the antagonism between Draco and Weasley, which by this time most of the school knew about. The Gryffindor Trio seemed to have taken to hiding in the library, which suited the blonde just fine as it gave him a chance to look up nasty hexes while spying on them.

He liked to demonstrate those hexes on that same trio. Once, they spotted Longbottom running down a hall all alone, a big grin on his face, and Draco pegged him with his newly found Leg-Locker Curse, sending the buffoon skidding. All the Slytherins present laughed as he slammed into a wall, the Chocolate Frog card he'd been holding fluttering lazily after him.

Harry attended Quidditch practice three times a week, even though he wasn't technically on the team. "It's all about preparation," Flint said once as he and Higgs ran Harry through flying drills. "Planning is what being a Slytherin is all about, and I plan to wipe the floor with the other Houses for seven more years!"

The match with Ravenclaw was in late January, which Harry was happy to attend all the way through. Both teams were notorious for their strength in strategy (although Slytherin strategy was usually just "cheat your heads off"), so it was a very interesting match to watch, even though Ravenclaw got the Snitch. Afterwards, the team drilled him on the various strategies and moves both teams had used. Harry began to suspect that they were training him to be more than just a Seeker.

In February was the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match. Draco spent a full week preparing for it, enlisting older students to help him make signs and badges that alternated saying "Ronald Weasley…" and "…at least he has ONE use for his head." The red faces over at the Gryffindor table the morning of the match were well worth the Slytherins' efforts. Even better was the obvious way it threw the Weasel off his game. Apparently, Draco had been right. The red-head had a surprisingly nasty problem with nerves.

Through it all, Harry and Draco tried to look into who might have tried to kill Harry, but they really had nothing to go on. The only three people who had known the password over break were the ones who they could not imagine letting a troll in. Their only choice in catching the would-be killer was to wait for him to try again, but whoever it was did not comply.

Eventually, Draco was forced to admit that they really might not be able to figure it out on their own, something that Harry, Crabbe, and Goyle had admitted weeks ago. They needed someone with a more powerful mind. However, they couldn't go to an adult—Draco trusted only Snape, and Harry most certainly did not trust him. That left the Ravenclaws, Hermione Granger… and Theodore Nott.

"Say it."

"You're…" Draco made a squeaking sound.

"Say it or I won't help you."

"You'resmarterthanme," Draco mumbled, turning red.

Nott smirked, finally looking up from his book. "Now was that so hard?"

"Shut up."

Harry decided he'd better jump in before this turned nasty. "You'll help us, then?

Nott closed his book and set it on his nightstand. "As much as I feel like. Is this about the troll, or Weasley?"

"The troll. How'd you know?"

The weedy boy rolled his eyes. "Please, as if you talk about anything else but those two topics. I have to give you both credit; when you pick something to focus on, you certainly stick with it like a pair of hyperactive crups."

"We could do without the insults, Nott," Draco sneered.

"And I could do without stupid questions. Doesn't seem any of us are going to be pleased, does it?" Nott was too smug altogether as he lay back on his bed. "Now come on. Out with it. You came crawling to me for a reason, right?"

Draco stiffened, but Harry kept himself carefully calm. "We've been trying to figure out who let the troll into the common room that night, but there were only three people who knew the password besides myself—"

"Password?" Nott scoffed. "You're stuck up on who knew the _password_? Are you joking?"

Draco started to snap something, but Harry slapped a hand over his mouth.

Nott's eyes flitted back and forth between the four boys standing around his bed, looking somewhere between incredulous and amused. "It doesn't really matter who knew the password. There are plenty ways of finding it out: Veritaserum, Legilimency, good old fashioned spying… not to mention things like the Imperius Curse, which would bypass the need to know it altogether. For all you know, Potter, _you _let the troll into the common room, and then were Obliviated afterward. The password _would not_ be a problem for any wizard who knew what he was doing."

Harry felt light-headed. He didn't understand everything Nott had mentioned, but he did understand the gist. _He _might have let the troll in? And then had his memories tampered with? The idea made him feel very uncomfortable.

Draco groaned. "That leaves us even farther than we were before! If it was an Imperius Curse, the actual killer wouldn't have had to even be at Hogwarts!"

Nott rolled his eyes. "I don't _actually_ think it was an Imperius Curse. That was just an example."

"Shut it, Nott. You've been no help at all."

"That's because I'm not finished, you twit."

Draco sneered.

"The password thing is a dead end, true. But that's not your only clue. I mean, how many people have access to a troll? Not the Weasleys, which is an idea I know you guys have been batting around."

Harry shrugged, unashamed.

"Also, chances are whoever let this troll in is the same one that let one in on Halloween. For all we know, it could even be the same troll."

Harry said, "But that one didn't try to kill me, right? That was different."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean it wasn't the same _person _or the same _troll_. Try to keep up, Potter. Like I said, not many people have access to a full-grown troll. My guess is that if we find out what that whole Halloween fiasco was about, we'll find your mysterious killer."

Harry thought back to Halloween, and he could see Draco doing the same. He recalled the story about the Gryffindor Trio's battle, and how the teachers had been running around at the same time.

Then, Harry remembered Potions class the morning after. "Snape was on the third floor."

"_Professor_ Snape," Draco hissed, glaring at him. "And don't you _dare_."

Nott, however, wore a knowing grin, watching Harry avidly.

Harry spoke slowly as he worked it over in his head. "There's something important hidden in that off-limits area. What if… what if the first troll was a distraction, so someone could try to get it?"

Draco was trying to freeze him with his eyes.

"Sna… Professor Snape was limping the next day, and he wouldn't talk about how he got injured when Draco mentioned that corridor. And… and he seems to hate me—really, really _hate _me—"

"Why would he let a troll into his own common room?" Draco snapped.

Nott said quietly, "Perhaps because _Harry_ _Potter_ was inside?"

Draco turned his glare on Nott. Harry asked, suddenly excited, "Do you know why he hates me, Nott?"

Slowly, Nott nodded.

"Why?"

"Easy. He was a Death Eater, and you're the one that killed the Dark Lord."

Harry reeled back as if struck. "A _Death Eater_? Teaching at Hogwarts? Does Dumbledore know?"

"I imagine he must," Nott said mildly, still smiling slyly. "With how Professor Snape joined the staff during the war, and sold all Dumbledore's secrets to the Dark Lord."

Harry stumbled back and sat down on his own bed, shocked and feeling very vulnerable.

"That's not all," Nott went on, his smile taking on a cruel edge. "Professor Snape's not the only one who wasn't happy to see the Dark Lord fall. In fact, there were a lot of Death Eaters who managed to escape Azkaban, and many of them lived to send their children to Hogwarts. And what do you know—four such children are in this very room right now."

It took a moment for that to sink in. When it did, Harry's eyes frantically sought out his friends', begging them to deny it. But Crabbe stared at nothing and Goyle averted his eyes. Worst of all, Draco met his, his gray eyes wide with horror but unable to hide the truth of Nott's words. Harry's friends were sons of Death Eaters.

He'd known. He'd always known it, but he'd never _realized. _Never let himself consider it.

"Harry—" Draco began, but Harry didn't let him finish. He turned and fled out of the room, tearing through the common room at a speed that attracted curious glances from his Housemates. As Harry sprinted out into the dungeons as if he had another troll on his heels, he couldn't help but wonder how many of those curious onlookers were related to Death Eaters.

People had told him. Hagrid had warned him. But he'd never let himself think about it. He'd never considered just _why_ everyone said Slytherin was for dark wizards.

Feeling betrayal dog his steps, he ran through the dungeons, heading for the Entrance Hall. There was no place in the castle that he felt safe now, not when there were Death Eaters and trolls and who-knew-what-else in there. And, oh God, Weasley had been _right_. He was a self-righteous git, but he'd been _right_ all those months ago. Who were the "wrong sort" now?

He scrambled through the Entrance Hall, past a gaggle of startled Hufflepuffs, and burst out onto the grounds. Only then did he let himself slow down.

It was getting dark out, being just after dinner. However, Harry could still see the smoke rising in the chimney of Hagrid's hut, and the firelight in the window behind the closed curtains. Without hesitation, Harry walked across the grounds and knocked on the heavy door. Fang started barking.

"Eh? Who is it?"

"It's Harry."

The door opened immediately, revealing Hagrid's broad form. He took in Harry's posture and expression and said, "Yeh better come in an' sit down."

Harry nodded and walked in as Hagrid held the door. Fang snuffed at his ear fondly, but Harry had little energy to react. The hut was stiflingly hot.

Hagrid closed the door and started to make tea. "Everythin' all righ', Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Can I… Can I stay here for a little while?"

Hagrid nearly dropped the kettle. "Well, o' course yeh can, Harry! As long as yeh like. An' if there's anythin' yeh need, jus' ask."

Harry nodded and, politely turning down Hagrid's offer for food, curled up with Fang to go to sleep.

He spent the next couple days avoiding his Housemates as best he could. In class, he didn't look at any of them, even though he could feel Draco staring at him. He skipped his Quidditch practices, and had to flee Flint when the burly sixth year tried to call him out for it. He took his meals and spent his free time in secure places, such as the library and Hagrid's hut. The Gryffindor Trio were also still spending an inordinate amount of time in the library, but Granger apparently considered the library sacred, so they didn't give him any trouble even when they noticed Harry lingering there alone day in and day out.

Through it all, he was utterly miserable. He hated being alone, and he didn't like that he didn't feel he could trust anyone. But his friends were the sons of Death Eaters; how was he to know that _they_ weren't the ones trying to kill him? What if their friendship with him were only part of some huge plot? He'd been gullible enough to think that someone might actually like him for _him_, instead of something he'd done ten years ago. Well, the Slytherins didn't _like_ him because of that; they _hated _him because of it. He didn't know which was worse.

Hagrid did his best to help Harry feel secure, but it wasn't quite the same. Sure, having the big man and his boarhound nearby helped him feel physically safe, but Hagrid wasn't very good at taking care of his emotional needs. He often accidentally said nasty things about his House, and that only made things worse.

The big man was preoccupied by the dragon's egg he was trying to care for in his hearth. Hagrid thought he was being subtle, but the amount of dragon-related books scattered around and the way he kept the hut scorching hot was enough to tell Harry just what that thing in the fire was.

He eventually just admitted that he knew about it. Hagrid looked relieved and asked whether he wanted to see it when it hatched. He looked too hopeful for Harry to decline.

He didn't want anyone to know, but he'd also started having nightmares. They featured everyone from the Weasley twins, to Snape, to all of Slytherin house. And they all ended in green flashes of light and high-pitched laughter. He always woke up curled around Fang, his scar burning.

Then, one Saturday morning, there came a knock on Hagrid's door. Harry sat at the table, working on his Charms homework as Hagrid greeted whoever it was.

"Harry, I think it's fer you."

Hagrid opened the door wide—which was surprising, since he was worried about letting the heat out—and revealed Crabbe and Goyle on the doorstep. Harry briefly looking behind them for a shock of blond hair, but then remembered that Draco didn't come to the hut.

Crabbe took a breath. "I think you better invite us in, Potter. We got stuff you need to hear."


	9. The Real Slytherin Game

**9: The Real Slytherin Game**

It was surreal. In the past months, he, Crabbe, and Goyle had had tea with Hagrid several times, so it shouldn't have felt so strange to be doing so now. But it did. It felt strange, and uncomfortable. Hagrid did his best to play the host, although that wasn't saying much. He dropped things, and he kept sneaking nervous glances at his egg, obviously aware of how conspicuous it was.

After a while of eating and drinking in silence, Crabbe said, "We got some things to come clean about."

Harry swallowed, hating how nervous he felt. He masked it with bitterness. "Like what? I already know you'd like to see me dead. What else is there?"

Goyle scowled, but Crabbe's face stayed neutral. "That ain't how it is."

Harry scoffed. It was one of many habits he'd picked up from Draco. The realization made him wince.

"S'true. That's the first thing you got to hear: we ain't our dads, and you sulkin' like this is just making everyone say you're as touchy as a Hufflepuff. You don't want that, not now the House is just starting to respect you."

"Why would I care what they think?"

"Because you're one of us, and that's part of what it means to be Slytherin. But I'm gonna get to that."

Harry felt his eyes widen as Crabbe took another breath. It seemed that Crabbe had some sort of speech prepared.

"First, we ain't our dads, Potter, just like you ain't yours. The Dark Lord died ten years ago, before most of us can remember, and you one of 'em. Maybe some of us might've wanted revenge, if you'd turned up a whiny Hufflepuff or snotty Gryffindor. But you didn't. You turned up a Slytherin, and Slytherins stick together. You're one of us, Potter. It's easy as that."

"But Nott said…"

"Nott's a prick," Goyle grumbled.

"Snape," Harry pressed.

Crabbe shook his head. "Malfoy says he didn't do it, and I believe him. Malfoy's smart, an' he knows Snape better'n anyone."

"Snape _hates_ me."

"Don't mean he wants to kill you, though."

At this, Hagrid said quietly, "Tha's true, Harry. Dumbledore trusts Snape more'n almost anyone. Whoever let that troll in, it wasn't him."

Harry blinked, startled at Hagrid's vote of confidence. If _all_ his friends thought Snape was innocent, did that mean Harry was wrong?

"So the other Slytherins really don't want to hurt me?"

Crabbe nodded. "That's right."

Harry sat in silence; he didn't know what to believe. On the one hand, here were his friends, coming to talk to him—although the chattiest of them was conspicuously absent—but on the other hand, they were the sons of _Death Eaters_. The followers of the man who had killed his parents.

"There's somethin' else, too." Crabbe said, a little more hesitantly. "See, we—Greg an' me—have been watching you for a while now, an' it's probably your Muggle upbringing that did it, but there's lots of things that go over your head."

Harry choked on his tea. This, from _Crabbe_?

"See, Greg an' me have always thought there was somethin' funny about you. The way you talked, and acted, and stuff."

"At first," Goyle added, "we thought you was just a real good actor."

"Yeah," Crabbe said, "and I think everyone else thinks so too. But that thing with Nott—it made us realize that you ain't actin' at _all._ You actually don't _know_."

"…know what?" Harry asked weakly.

"About the _game_. An' I think Nott knew you didn't know. If anyone else finds out, you'll get a lot worse'n what Nott gave."

"Malfoy, too," Goyle ventured.

"What about Draco?" Harry's head was starting to spin.

Crabbe said, "Malfoy knows that you don't know, but he's hiding it from everyone else."

"Wait, what don't I know?"

"The _game_."

"_What_ game?"

Crabbe looked flustered, and turned to Goyle. "How do we explain it?"

Goyle thought about it for a moment. Then, he said, "Vince an' me ain't friends with Malfoy."

Crabbe relaxed, looking satisfied with that, but it just confused Harry more.

"What do you mean, you're not friends with Draco?" Harry asked. "Of course you are. You go everywhere with him."

"But that's just it, ain't it?" Crabbe pressed. "It ain't friendship. It's an agreement."

"Erm… what?"

"It's like this. Malfoy's family is more powerful than ours, so he's higher on the chain than us. So we hang around him, give him backup and look tough, an' he pulls us higher up the chain."

Harry felt his eyes widen as things started clicking into place. "The chain?"

"The ladder. The heap. People call it different things, but it's all the same. It ain't power, exactly. Social clout, sorta. Popularity, but more grand. Everyone makes alliances, an' trades skills and resources, and tries to tug themselves up the chain. That's how the game works. The rules don't matter, you make your own—but if you ain't a player, you become something much worse. Like a pawn, or even the board." Crabbe took a couple deep breaths, tired from his brief speech.

Slowly, Harry said, "And everyone plays this game?"

"Slytherins do, yeah, and some others, but they ain't as good at it. Ever wonder what the Sorting Hat picks for? It ain't blood, 'cause we got a couple halvsies around. And it ain't 'cause we're all evil, either." Crabbe wrinkled his nose.

"It's because we play this 'game'?"

"It's 'cause we're _good_ at the game. We're socially con-shuss." Harry smiled a little at how Crabbe sounded out the word. "An' it doesn't go away, neither. We learn how to make allies and get ahead here, then go off into the world and keep doin' it."

Harry picked at his rock cake thoughtfully. "That makes a lot of sense, I guess. But then… why did I get Sorted here? I didn't even know _about_ this 'game,' much less how to play it!"

At this, Crabbe and Goyle exchanged small smiles. "Well, that's the funny thing, Potter. You're already on top."

Harry froze, then let out a long groan that only made the pair grin wide. "Why is everything always about _that_? I don't even remember doing it!"

Goyle sympathetically poured him some more tea.

"I don't think anyone knew where to put you at first," Crabbe went on. "On the chain, I mean. You were famous, but you made a lot of enemies when you killed the Dark Lord. But then you made sound alliances and attacked the right people, and then you showed your mettle with that troll thing, and so now your past don't matter one bit. It's all about who you _will_ be that we all care about now."

"You all think I'll be powerful?" Harry asked uncomfortably.

"We think you'll be _great_, Potter. There's a difference."

Harry sat quietly. It was a lot to take in. Then, he realized something that made him go cold, even in the heated hut. "Wait. If Draco knew about all this, and knew that I didn't know…"

The pair exchanged uncomfortable looks, and Harry didn't need to go on. He remembered an instance, back in Madam Malkin's, when Draco had been about to say something, then glanced at his scar and changed his mind. "He's been manipulating me."

"Yeah, he has."

Harry felt betrayed. He didn't want to ask the next question, but he had to. "Is he… is he really my friend, or has he just been using me like you've been using him?"

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged those uncomfortable looks again. It was all the answer Harry needed. A sudden flash of injured anger caused him to slam his teacup down.

"Why? Why have you told me all this? It can't have helped you in the _game_, right?"

"'Cause we like you," Goyle mumbled. Harry wasn't sure if he dared to believe him.

"You can still save it, Potter," Crabbe said. "You can start playin' now—no one's got to know you weren't before."

Harry burst to his feet and roared, "I DON'T WANT TO PLAY SOME BLOODY _GAME_!" The two larger boys flinched, and Fang gave an aborted whimper under the table.

The hut was silent for a time, and Harry's anger slipped away, leaving him desolate.

Crabbe set his cup down. "Don't play, then. The important thing is you know 'bout it, so if someone tries to use you, you'll know. But I think you'll play, an' you'll like it. You're one of us."

Why did a phrase that had comforted him before suddenly sound so sinister?

Harry stayed in the hut after Crabbe and Goyle had left, and distracted himself by helping Hagrid research dragons.

However, he couldn't get what Crabbe had told him out of his head. All the Slytherins had been playing a game? It sounded twisted, but at the same time he knew it was true.

Harry didn't want to play, really, he didn't. He didn't care about power, and he definitely didn't care about his own fame. The idea of using it to get ahead made him feel ill.

But he didn't want to be used, either—not by anybody, and _especially_ not because of his fame. It hurt very much that Draco had been using him in such a way; so much, in fact, that Harry wanted to get back at him. And now that he knew about the game, he knew how to do that.

On Monday morning, he burst into the Great Hall with purpose in his step and fire in his eyes, his robes billowing behind him as if he were a miniature Snape. His dramatic entrance caused a ripple of whispers to follow after him as he stormed toward the Slytherin first years. Harry felt butterflies in his stomach, but he knew it was necessary.

They wanted him the play? He'd play, because he wasn't going to be used again.

He didn't head to Draco, but instead to Theodore Nott. Before Nott had a chance to react, Harry had yanked him out of his chair by the collar and punched him in the face, sending him stumbling back into the Hufflepuff table. God, but it felt good.

Without a word, Harry turned and took a seat next to Draco, where Goyle had made a spot for him. Most of the table was staring at him in shock, as well as a good fraction of the hall.

The next moment, Harry felt an unmistakable presence lurking behind him. "Care to enlighten me on what that little display was about, Potter?"

Harry didn't even look up at Snape, but instead over at Draco's masked expression. "Just putting Nott in his place, Professor."

Harry heard Snape say, "Detention, Potter," but found that he didn't care. The shocked widening of Draco's eyes felt better than any punch.

SSSSSSSSSS

Breakfast passed quietly for the first-years that morning, since Draco remained oddly silent, and Nott's pointed glares at Harry were enough to make everyone uncomfortable. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass exchanged whispers every now and then, but that was it.

As the Slytherins left the hall to go to their first class together, Terence Higgs swooped in and pulled Harry into an empty classroom for a private word. His tone was heated, but his face remained characteristically blank.

"I thought you understood, Potter, that disputes are to be settled behind the common room doors."

"It won't happen again."

"It shouldn't have happened once."

Harry stared into the Prefect's eyes, knowing he was in the right. "It needed to be public. Else he wouldn't have gotten the point."

"And what point was that?"

Harry looked at Higgs for a moment. He was a seventh year, he was the Slytherin Seeker, and he was a Prefect. He was probably one of the highest in the House's entire hierarchy. But Harry couldn't help but wonder whether Higgs had been doing the exact same thing Draco had. Being seen bossing around Harry Potter on that first day, and then taking him under his wing—it all certainly made the prefect look better. Crabbe had been right. Knowing about the way things really were made a huge difference in how Harry saw his Housemates.

Harry wondered who was higher: this seventh year Prefect, or himself, the Boy-Who-Lived. He was willing to find out.

"The point was that I'm not going to sit by meekly when someone tries to play me like a pawn. If I think someone's not being fair to me, I'm not afraid to show everyone. You know what I mean, Higgs?"

Higgs's face remained a mask, but he took a long time to respond. "Yeah, I think I do, Potter."

Harry felt an odd little thrill go through him, but ignored it. Instead, he turned and left, not even waiting to be excused. Higgs made no move to stop him anyway.

After that day, the first-year dynamics changed slightly. Harry and Draco were still at the epicenter of the social group, but the two were rarely anything but cool to one another. This was mostly Harry's doing, because it was either that or show just how betrayed he felt. He couldn't show weakness or they'd all tear him apart; Nott had made that very plain.

Still, when Harry called him "Malfoy" for the first time, and the blonde looked at him with hurt in his eyes, Harry had to swallow a lump in his throat and remind himself that it wasn't real. Draco was, after all, a very good liar.


End file.
